Breadcrumb #373

RAX KING

A lady tells me, wake me at 42nd Street.
Colonial column of a lady, and was she fine!
Was she lovely! The gathering of age
in rivulets of wrinkle, hair silvering thin itself.

I think, it has been years since I was anything
a stranger might call fine. It warms my guts:
to be un-fine. Greasy and grimy, even fresh
from the bath. Like a rock a worm calls home.

I let the train pass 42nd Street before I wake her just to see
how haughty she will snip at me, but she shrugs,
her back as straight in sleep as a shaker chair,
snaps her eyes back shut like a crocodile’s.

• • •

Breadcrumb #338

COOPER WILHELM

If I could reappear an instant later clinging to the ceiling above trouble like a cat I’d still call out
for reassurance. Does this iMessage look infected? Do the poachers know my real name? Are
my sorrows still attached?

How unforgiving we can be. How thrashed. I’ve aligned myself with longing and worn regrets
around me like a sandwich board, and I’m doing that now, but I’ve decided that’s the past.

No more po-ems about fire, no more
parables of loneliness—rest easy,
ugly heart.

Only werewolves now.

Only howling to the kitchen so you rush back
in and do not miss the good parts.

Maybe a fake molar full of stem cells I can crack when under scrutiny so I could feel like I did
something and still retain my tooth. Maybe a kitten’s all I need.

This one time a man in an I Heart Jesus hat asked the kid next to him did I miss my stop

“Huh?”

Did I miss 42nd Street?

“Uh Yeah”

“Why’d you let me sleep?!”

The kid shrugged they didn’t know each other and Jesus Hat looked up
and asked sir (I’m not even 30)
sir (or 29) do you know what stop is next and
I didn’t know where we were together because I was writing this poem and I still am but I’ll stop.

• • •     • • •

Breadcrumb #273

ANIKA CZANDER

O terrible two
You tyrant of tardiness
Forever delayed
Forever held
Momentarily
By the trains dispatcher
Sardined subway
At 7:49 am
A boner is pressed
Against my leg

We clamor inside
To fill you up
Though two may
Be three
And sometimes
One

Take me to my lover
My classes
My bars
Transport me, my two
By your
Tumultuous tumble
Your tenured track

Frigid silver skeleton
Stand clear
For the closing
Doors
Hark! Another train
Close behind
I repeat
There is another train close behind!
We disregard that which you
Speak, two train

Your car
Is a journey
Thrashed
With unforgiving
Air conditioning

• • •

Breadcrumb #230

MORIAH SHIRES

All trains are running on the local track
Can I have a taste of what love should be, 
But probably never is?
French Rococo, his last cigarette
He lets me draw 

Eyes down, eyelashes soft
Melting folding disappearing into myself
Pretending he doesn’t know
Praying my pretense is reality
Pretending you aren’t in front of me
With your hood down, shoes off, let’s make this even

Mmmmm like an animal
Like eating your little brother’s birthday cake
Like an alien vomiting onto the earth
We devour each other
Biting and tearing, wishing you were him
And I was her
Our love is fake, a tragic remedy
An attempt to bandage an incurable wound
You and I are not enough

In spite of, despite, in addition to
A slice less indulgent than the whole
Trust me--I’ll take what I can take
Giving hurts
Work drinks. Work dinner. Work coffee.
Tinder date. Bumble fuck.
I hope you aren’t upset 

Time, the dimension of nonexistence
Click, tap, shhh
Minutes are hours
Click, tap, shh, shut the fuck up
Where is the subway?
Ocean eyes glaring into my soul, he knows
Whispers, click, tap, shhh, whispers, silence
Hell
Where do we go from here?
The E train is running on the express track
But I need the local train
I need a local love
I missed it
Where do I go from here?

• • •