Huddled on the metro with
chewing gum and felt-tip pens,
she checks the space
for any sign of surface.
She craves depth yet has no
way except her tongue to
learn and develop....
so she debates with the poles
across her aisle
as life moves in fast paced
thrillers.
- Time failing to be recognized.
The other track? Seemingly another
dimension -
Death: a nine page manuscript,
weathering on the secondhand
benches,
that she opens and asks
