lost on the A- Train

riding backward on the A train feeling it slow hush trickle in and rush away unsure what the streets mean unsure where i am wondering if he'll meet me at the last stop like he promised

5.4

he ate a bullet on May 4 walking as though to a cafe in paris jeans skinny and ripped at the ankle teeth split open gag reflex learned gone to a heaven made for babies flowers they say are better then bullets but tell that to the smoke rising into the atmosphere beautiful like a ghost protecting us from ourselves shivering into the condensation to rain down upon us marching tomorrow the lilacs dont smell like childhood the coffee doesn't keep us awake the ground is wet and red