The seat goes one way below the city, in tunnels underground.
A man is lost so he finds a map.
The woman sits below the map, looking at his belt buckle.
He leans in. He squints at the picture. He breathes down.
He was told once, that this was his train. His direction in space.
She presses her back to the metal wall behind her.
She focuses on the metal bar that is by her arm.
She looks up at the man, eyes wide.
Something is forming behind her teeth, but it is not the words.
Another woman, a different mouth, watches this happen from an opposite seat,
and something else forms for her too - a canary pecking.
Which thickness in history do you have to cut
in order for the actions needed to come?
In order for the jelly of our relationships to shatter, like a water breaking, letting the gooey center of something hot and devastating show itself.
A reality flowing in waves that strikes and crashes the lost men that want
to take you with them.
He was told once that he made this hard seat for her.