Day Three: ‘Queensboro Plaza’

April 3, 2013

From here high on a floating barge,

you can smell God

deposited in stone faces and shredded billboards.


The bridge hangs like a net, backdropping

a series of train exchanges, connecting

work and sleep in a tangle of city air.

My bag slung as a child, like yours,

shoes tight and shaved face —

melting into morning ether again.


Beyond this elevated rock thick in a.m. chaos,

all people are commuters,

transitory ghosts in a spawn of skyscrapers

waiting out the traffic. They lunge toward routine

and shriek at delays. Their brown soles rust.

And all aboard remain impermanent.


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