hello robots

October 22, 2009 12:00AM

the Red Line is raking rubber as the brakes pander and squeal to the curve
between Central Square and Harvard Square. driver train-guider is ravaging
the track. i sit swaying towards the rear of the second car where the light
is dim and the air is bending inward and everything is emanating wrongness.
in spades. hollow-shell air full of grit and wrenches.

those figures, the hollowed underbelly eyes. blobs attached to purses,
bags, scotched hair. i worm through this space. i sway. down shallow
hallways, across pebbled-grey carpets, granules and seams, caricatures of
a hundred thousand days before.

swollen drivel at the night’s end, lobbed momentum curling forward.

hello robots. robot fans, search-engine lovers.

the space towards the rear of the second car is bending, bloody-grey, and
full of rubber and glue and stillborn ads. no glass smashing, no sparkle,
no landing.

one more day and mr. sister, beat circus, blood warrior, vacation, bliss.