standing and muscling in nicotine halls where tired faces fall toward the shade of orange eyes that wink and stare from the corners of air thickened with universal pall. that is, everyone saw the need to be one with history, passing in pale terminals, waiting under skyless suns. i share my wall with unconscious poor, some with somewhere to go, some that go nowhere, some that gaze after the sum silently swimming underwater, dragging aquaria on rainbow lines, seeking the woman in the polka-dot dress, her bloodless eyes, her bodiless smile, standing still in the eye of new trains.
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