Monday, January 16, 2012

The Commute

A slice of blue
half my width
Peeks out between two bodies
inflated by 

Kennedy Fried 
or winter layers,
It doesn't really matter
I want that seat.

Scuse me. Thank you.
Manners lip synched
between the two worlds 

within our headphones.
The deal is sealed
with a nod and a shift.

Like books on a shelf with room for no more,
We are wedged.
Rocking gently along the length of manhattan
Oddly comfortable.
The stranger snuggle
Could never happen above ground.

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