unscheduled stop & chat
 
the torch glance shading the air too long
a dark joyous hair yank to the concrete
bored road workers order the pastrami
she is all alone wrapped around his body
he is all alone inside the cave in her legs
 
her hard arcs into the long street fade tired
he slopes: the brush swipes ease all the pain
they play act a contrary parody of the sordid
insufferable buttfuck of a postmodern moment
 
with their lips nicking the eyelids of the space
separating them like deadbolts in sleeping cars
 
with their tongues sharing a seat on the subway
politely enough to ignore the odor of human punch
 
with their walkway of genitals linking an underground
portal of deodorant, sweat, and cigarette smoke close
enough to beauty for the crazy to wave so long to life
 
with a leap in front of the powerful locomotive of death
coming so noisy fast through their vanishing ears they
open their eyes at the same time the girl on her spine
does as the man's insides splash warming her tunnel
 
with sterile possibilities of nothing so meaningful that
they have to be warehoused and serialized with each
effort to keep track showing how inconsequential the
greedily burgeoning numbers that hold our places in
 
this line of talking bodies watching them coil fuck on
the ground nearby, whispering the magazine's words:
 
this article is titled what to do when wet dreams dry up
love is a riddle going sour on her thighs' coffee shop cup
curve half submerged in that puddle holding her grey &
somehow greying skirts oh so lily pad still in the button
push VCR progression speed of time deflowering nobody
 
and everybody so that no one needs to open up and talk
well, they're certainly holding their own after work lets
out support group right then & there are not they? i'll
 
call out her name tag; say my nametag, hi my name is
the cover story here claims that by the next century or
so human thought will have that extra wanted nuance
to create perversions so complex that no one will fuck
 
it will feel really awkward if the lovers decide to enter
into our conversation before this late train finally stops

- KJ Hays