Lines Intersecting as Seen from a Bus Stop
It’s 9 am
I’m waiting
A gray February overcast
tints the bus stop
and all surrounding things
Buildings lurch
through frozen sun
between statuesque
pedestrians while
the wind turns
a girl’s hair sideways
That same fucking sedan
beeps three times
while speeding past as
the pavements burst again
with cold pigeons like steam
A man and woman press through
and the woman is screaming
She hurls a whiskey bottle
at his head and
the bottle shatters
against the street
A truck blares its horn
and rolls over the glass
always is such a short time
when we live so long,
sings a distant ambulance
I cover my ears as
the 35 arrives
The doors slide open
and nobody is driving and
the windows are crowded
with demons
Horror Sleaze Trash 