Untitled (Poem)

[alchemistandi]

My pen is filling a new notebook on the train-
Purchased in leisure at a chain convenience.

And then I bought three books
From the swank, new literary nook across the street:
One a collection of odious short stories,
Atlas Shurgged (at the beckon of Vinny),
and a pocket dictionary;
For all those multi-syllabic nuisances yet to be placed in cerebral confinement.

And on this train, the orange line of Boston
Coursing through the subterranean veins
Of the iron and aqua-glass city,
There's sporadic lightning that cracks and spasms at minute intervals;
An electric storm, a migraine
Public transportation shock therapy
That only fuels my anxiety
So that my mouth tastes of stale lead
And I fear a seizure (though I've never had one)
And I'll buzzsaw my tongue
With the embedded ornate ivory
Augmenting my jawline.

But the girls are scattered notes
Of torrent phonecalls and curled lashes batting
A lustrous overture
Of Aphrodite's symphony;
Seraphic conductors commanding the orchestras within me,
And when they glance over I crescendo quite pleasantly
So that my anxieties wane
As the lipstick, red-beaked kissing doves with their multi-chromatic plumes
Sing their songs
Lead me along
The symphonious bars of half-time and whole notes drawn out and sonically long

As commuters brace against the cool, sepulchral handlebars