When first I grasped a pen, began to write
My plan, my life’s roulette, was not yet formed
And yet the me who did appear at night
Had taken steps, accomplices suborned

Ah, innocent in youth we two did play
Our volumes shared, our wits we gleef’lly matched
But something darker when you went away
From there desire to outdo was hatched

Much ink thus spilled, the pages all cast forth
The bottles swallowed up by stormy sea
The answer’s south, but still I’m looking north
And hoping—waiting—you’ll come back to me

Yet I have learned, while lookers-on engorge
The…

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It was upon some recent blust’ry day
That Maxwell, fleet of finger, sharp of eye
Did travel on the system known as “BART”
And a ticket, value held, he did espy

“Forsooth!” he thought, “it would be quite a waste
were these three dollars left to gulls and rats”
And in his wallet thus he did emplace
the card permitting access to the tracks

’Twas yesterday, that token passed to me
As one of many, gatherèd as friends
Alas, for force of habit did prevail
The ticket left unused this night again

Perhaps it simply, truly was not meant
For these three dollars ever to be spent

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At pale of dawn beneath a faded sky
In context apropos implicitly
Beyond the grasp of mere felicity
A stirring, slow but sure to catch the eye

Now one by one, all quivering and flushed
Sounds light and timorous, resolving to
An even pulse resounding through and through
They each arise beneath the morning hush

A group indeed, but one defying name
Each entity discordant from the last
A counted many, writhing, seething mass
In hues of crimson, cinnamon, cherry, and flame

And fin’lly, formless, flutter off unseen
In search of lines to col’r themselves between.

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