Friday, June 27

One-Armed Bandit

on vibrating the world is luminous of tin
& turns jagged the tunnels –
a thursday night is only a day any of
like other; & through the city is a summer rain falling,
causing people to hurryhurryhurry under cover –

drying out on the central line:

two women young with full bags
of jutting shapes sit slouch’d
in the musty seats

one on her phone, while her new partner is draped
across a tomb of all uncaring, dripping her mouth down
the muscular of dead spots around her lips,
slipping mountain snow the steady & drooping
her jaw( friend unconcerned)
just high
high & coursing
pallid eyes a stuck one-armed bandit; then stut-
tering to life, graze the furniture & lull again out –

& from me, bow road, yonder the east;
guess the sun will rise in five hours
& take with it light across where she has fallen.

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