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Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Subway Poem #14

fist clutches steel
eyes closed
morning comes too early
but here's the dance of a young man
in fresh construction clothes
keeping his sleepy balance on a hurtling car
poll dancer through our underworld

if he would slowly undress for us
tear off constraints of morning
the work day
the weary world of toil
through tunnels to salt mines
our icon
sculpted flesh freed from daily artifice

amongst others standing and seated
sipping paper cups of coffee
the packed house barely sees his moves
in tribal theater
but i watch 
as he balances
with shifting feet
there is movement and life

he swings and stomps with clumsy grace
reminding us
we are all dancers
hustling for poise
till the whistle blows at sundown
and we slowly can undress


  1. ohhh, that was sexy!!!

  2. Thank you, dahling, I'm glad it was as good for you as it was for me. :)