The function abandoned us, commandment
convenient, such as this is my body: whole,
when in fact I am a torus, more in common
with a doughnut than indigenous oragami
folded into a cross — it shakes in the subway’s
rattle, scolding the city’s execution of chaos
rising in continuum without graceful, abrupt
turns and severe light-like glass peering
into the steep mesa of mouth I open
to drink more coffee: you’re might think
you’re still happy: strange world: keep in touch.
Some poems take you places and this one makes me 19 and waiting to catch a train and stuck with thoughts of figuring it all out. I hear the train and people in the background speaking German as I would be in germany. I think the quiet figuring it all out has been replaced by a constant media that suggests figuring it out.