Q Train

what is a place but
a postcard chewed out
by memory; a conveyor belt
of baggage with its locks
smashed up; oh,
the mishandling.

what is moving but
sitting still, in a memory –
the tangerine seat on the Q train,
knocking knees
sketching someone he once made you
but shifted
to a different-colored seat.

what is looking but
the swiveling of the eye
through dust
covered lenses. window
after window, image
after image, passing
after passing, a gaze as fixed
as the stations between places
but weak as – look!
that tiny rat’s heart
underneath the train tracks.
which is to say, impermanent.


Image sourced from Chowen Photography

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