Untitled
by Steven Hazen Williams
smell like alcohol and cigarettes
of course
with hair all wild like down
stroked fire, eye make up
and sparkled lips. you make
the boys tell each other they would fuck you,
instead they are going to eat
hot sausages.
its dark and i pretended my eyes are
camera lenses...
when it works the sky is deep blue
not black
the stars blur
and everything is orange and red
except the cars which become long lines
of light with no mass
frozen in time not measured
by doppler.
we ran along the bike path to find the
train i wanted to ride
it was late
the booth was closed but the conductor let
us on anyway.
the tracks were only 2 feet apart as
opposed to the normal 4. it made the ride
tipsy and awkward but it was a train
big and iron.