In the land of Doyer blue
Who know that was is shared
Is all there is to pay attention to
The rest stare into phones
With the sadness of knowing
There won't be anyone there
Or they wander aimlessly
As if there is a place
For one who is alone to be.
Or they parade what they think is their pain
But they don't know, for no one has told them
What it is, and even the seeing eye dogs
Can't catch its scent.
Don't ask the rideshare uniforms
They're busy training fans
To endure enough train delays
To be angry, at least enough to
One-up the pinstupes in moxie.
"I too lived," one weary commuter said,
"Above the Battery. The rats, the debris,
The sales on expired meat..."
There is so much to know
Between the coasts,
Only so much janky loneliness gets through
And they don't carry clues in vending machines
Or even cigarettes any more.
But I can tap blue quinoa to admire
How no ones face gives anything away
But everything, to the point where
You don't want to know
But can't unsee that void.
Another talks of clubbing on
The West Side, how it went bad
In a cascade of on and off crash and burn
Girlfriends -- "not even a second date" --
"I'd cast a wider ass net but this adult sports
Routine doesn't work ... she's still single
Now ... No one cooks for one."
They have children when
They run out of common interests --
Something to share, to transmute
Pain to joy, and joy to believing
You are not just a person at all
But a spirit who only answers to love
Not the cold wolf whistle
Of the next moonshine train
That goes wherever you are not.
