hand white knuckle gripping the only handle tense collective standing cuz everyone’s gotta hold their ground can’t be touched in the window my reflection fogs tells me how irritable the moment is elbows and fists intersect to find space searching and yet losing one’s grip doors open to the underworld exposing fresh cool air more…
Tag: commute
riding
riding the train while writing the simultaneous movement of fingers hunting and pecking words on the phone no writing pad candlelight quills dipped in ink nothing fancy about this writing desk or station no artsy cafe ambiance no comfy chair the incantation comes from the glow of the screen through smeared vaguely transparent windows city…
The Dynamics of Groove 