and then the earth was flat
I. Daylight
I thought of your ceramic hands
as I crept through the turnstile.
The low hum of the train car,
droning like the unearthly machine
wire fastened to your heartbeat.
My body fit like a misplaced
puzzle piece within the downtown crowd.
And just as I thought I’d be pushed out
the double doors clamp shut
like your transparent eyelids.
(And I know you could see me, but I
couldn’t stop running).
I barrel through the exit doors nearly
stumbling onto the burning pavement.
The sun stings my eyes as if I was nocturnal.
I longed for darkness, as my skin seemed
to melt under the hot lights.
I imagine you rising up, your spirit
shooting through your mechanical pumping
chest, pushing aside the tangle of buzzing wires.
Your unmarred hands pulling aside the coma white
ceiling, as you are slowly swallowed by the sky.
II. Nightfall
From over my head I could hear shouting,
The roaring minor chords from inside the
Bowery nightclub. I rush towards the open door
but the spirits grab me by the ankles
as if to pull me from danger.
I curse and spit as they drag me underground
and back through the turnstiles. The more I resist
the tighter their grasp became, until I was back on the
same crowded train.
They have something to show me.
Spirit fingers clench the corners of my skull
holding me prisoner against the hard plastic bench.
They pin back my quivering eyelids as I watch
each sidewalk pass, each concrete slab
your tiny feet would never brush again.
As I passed the chapel you brought me to as
an infant, I swear I could see you
gesturing to the spirits, demanding that
they bring to me your doorstep.
I found your daughter sobbing softly on the
battered steps. And as I embraced my mother
I felt your soft kiss on my forehead
for the last time.
I thought of your ceramic hands
as I crept through the turnstile.
The low hum of the train car,
droning like the unearthly machine
wire fastened to your heartbeat.
My body fit like a misplaced
puzzle piece within the downtown crowd.
And just as I thought I’d be pushed out
the double doors clamp shut
like your transparent eyelids.
(And I know you could see me, but I
couldn’t stop running).
I barrel through the exit doors nearly
stumbling onto the burning pavement.
The sun stings my eyes as if I was nocturnal.
I longed for darkness, as my skin seemed
to melt under the hot lights.
I imagine you rising up, your spirit
shooting through your mechanical pumping
chest, pushing aside the tangle of buzzing wires.
Your unmarred hands pulling aside the coma white
ceiling, as you are slowly swallowed by the sky.
II. Nightfall
From over my head I could hear shouting,
The roaring minor chords from inside the
Bowery nightclub. I rush towards the open door
but the spirits grab me by the ankles
as if to pull me from danger.
I curse and spit as they drag me underground
and back through the turnstiles. The more I resist
the tighter their grasp became, until I was back on the
same crowded train.
They have something to show me.
Spirit fingers clench the corners of my skull
holding me prisoner against the hard plastic bench.
They pin back my quivering eyelids as I watch
each sidewalk pass, each concrete slab
your tiny feet would never brush again.
As I passed the chapel you brought me to as
an infant, I swear I could see you
gesturing to the spirits, demanding that
they bring to me your doorstep.
I found your daughter sobbing softly on the
battered steps. And as I embraced my mother
I felt your soft kiss on my forehead
for the last time.