Here poem 3/8/17

here is your hair. fingered and cherished as an open organ, creeping from its cloth along the L line

here is a glance from man with bright white feet, small hands scruffing coiff in train window

here is the moon. all rays diffused silent on window sill — on train and in your room, on the ground

Here Steps March; commuter rail in corridor and station and here is the tail of a dog you saw on the L

here is a smile but still rays refuse to speak and here is smirk as they trip away. under your feet and over

here is drunk men still drinking and spilling themselves around you onto pavement

Here is a street stricken with shadows and here is the simper you offer to the crosswalk so it gives back the purse

here is the bar with the COOL lights, here is your fake but here is your curfew and here are your parents and there is your house so here is where you glide along rays until

you realize you’re up and stop for a sec