M. Doughty

the dark is dropping like a spot
of black ink squeezed into a glass of water
and now the crowds are thinning out
into the light down in the subway station

here this train speeds underground
this train speeds under the river

and i will drift back to the slope
some face unlit, there, stuck into the incline
where i will sleep off all the noise
the soot accumulated, all my trials

i thank you
lord almighty up above
just for sending out the F train to me

so thankful
for all the unspent love
that i save up in the jar of money

your polaroid is on the wall
stuck in the crack between the door and
door-frame
trapped in the middle of some laugh
some drunken joke some friend of yours was
telling




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