Sunday, August 29, 2010

poetry (or not) on the platform

an ode (if you can call it that) on the platform:


waiting for the train, none in sight
fighting my boredom with all my might.
a man spits -
it doesn't go far.
two lights like glowing eyes, in the dark -
my best ray of hope.

it's hard to notice, but it is preceded with an added qualifier of "horrible." and followed by:


"I bet he twirled his moustache while writing this. F*ing hipster." Touché.

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