Nightmoves

There are only a few ways to be dead and still
hurl insults at traffic or stars. I practice
the 3rd and 4th variations.

The subway conductor announced that his son had gone
missing, that he had been walking to such-and-such a place.

I looked around and noticed the passengers were not
listening. They had become pieces of sky, which left me
with no option but to lie down and wait for the nearest tree
or tall building to poke through them.

I was practicing a sympathetic shape. The conductor came on
again with a whine of feedback and the blue expanse
destroying him from the inside but
it sounded like “My son, my son!”
and the nearest tree poked through him.