Stinking pelt

Line 9
On the way home
The local tabloid
Spread on the floor
I pick it up
I read
This woman
87 y.o.
Was hit by a car
Jaywalking
Dead
This other woman
72 y.o.
Not crossing the street
Fast enough
Flattened
By a truck
This couple
79 and 76 y.o.
Crashed on the road
Were killed when
Another car
Hit them
Getting old
Is like a sinking ship
Water is cold
And you’re
Never sure
Where hell
Is coming from

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Alone on Mars

On Line 9
When hurling down with
The last train
The iron tracks screaming
And ghosts standing alert
You’re not exactly dead yet
But not
Exactly alive
Anymore
That moment in between
When you don’t
Have to think
Whether you’re
Dead or alive
Is comfortable
Enough
Somehow
You wish
It’d never end

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Bed of roses

When I go home
Drunk and fucked up enough
Right off Line 9
There’s a garden
A Parisian garden
It’s small
There’s only one rose bush
Growing up in there
With no friend
That’s all there is
A single rose bush
I’m not even sure it has thorns
Parisian garden
But every spring
There are roses there
Pink, like roses should be
So, when I go home I was saying
And it’s summer
And there are roses
Coming home drunk and fucked up
I stick my nose in one of those roses
I even pull the stick
So I don’t have to bend
And I stick my nose into there
Like a slob
Like I’m a Viking or something
I know there could be malevolent insects
Biting my ass for being so sensible
I don’t care
And I smell it
I smell the rose
And I don’t know how to describe
What it does to me
Not enough words
Fucking roses
Right there
For all
Surviving like nothing else matters
So I’m thrilled by the scent
For the second it takes to come to my senses
Then I have to go home
Get there, in the elevator
And you get home
And you look at the clock
And you don’t understand

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Indian girl

Indian girl
From India I mean
All dressed up and sexy
Parisian girl all the way
Second generation
Coming home late on Line 9
Poor part of town
She’s smiling and tipsy
If Mom & Pop
Hadn’t emigrated
She’d still be in India
From some lower caste
Somewhere
Toiling for some rich Indian fuck
Getting forced married
To some poor fuck
Cleaning rich fuck’s shit
As far as she knows
She’s better off Parisian
Yet there’s some sadness in her
Troubles at home
With Mom & Pop
I guess

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