ALL GOOD CONDUCTORS

I.

O the screech and heat and hate

we have for each day’s commute,

the long wait at the last stop

before we go screaming

underground, while the pigeons

court and shit and rut

insolently on the tracks

because this train is always late,

always aimed at only us,

who when it comes with its

blunt snout, its thousand mouths,

cram and curse and contort

into one creature, all claws and eyes,

tunneling, tunneling, tunneling

toward money.

 

2.

Sometimes a beauty

cools through the doors at Grand,

glides all the untouchable

angles and planes

of herself

to stand among us

like a little skyscraper,

so sheer, so spare,

gazes going all over her

in a craving wincing way

like sun on glass.

 

3.

There is a dreamer

all good conductors

know to look for

when the last stop is made

and the train is ticking cool,

some lover, loner, or fool

who has lived so hard

he jerks awake

in the graveyard,

where he sees

coming down the aisle

a beam of light

whose end he is,

and what he thinks are chains

becoming keys.