had the urge to revisit some old poetry and revise what i can. never realized how emo or cheesy i used to be (or still am, maybe). took a stab at one.
standing on the platform
in philly’s 30th st. station,
the whirring of the schedules
to new york is deafening,
constantly changing to the point
where the letters
appear a gibberish jumble,
and reading it out loud
gets my tongue all tied.
on the analog,
the second hand slows
almost to a halt,
and the minute hand
is spinning haywire,
leaving me frozen and dizzy.
9 becomes 7, and 7 becomes 8,
and i almost
don’t want to leave.
on the digital,
the numbers blink
a quick-slow-
quick-quick-slow rhythm,
struggling to drown out
the heavy thumping in my head.
or was that in my chest?
the tick tocks.
and the tock ticks.
time doesn’t make sense
when you look at me that way.
