19. as late afternoon slides

into early evening, a rush

of faces blossom into view,

a bouquet of wilting flowers

thirsting for rest or rain.

*(in a metro by the station [for ezra pound] by ralph semino galan)

this was the courtesy poem the train gave me this morning by way of welcome, after a hundred unseen elbows had successfully vomited me into its airconditioned arms.

not exactly reassuring for a monday morning, is it? i thought so.