4am Train station, Flickering Lights, Hot Cigarette Air
By: Jacob Weil
In that quiet was a something,
Pinprick black shoelaces swimming lazily in the swamp, never breaking the surface.
The man I bumped turned around, revealing his turquoise suit coat and tulip weave
undergarment. He sneered at Me with his telescope eyes! Ice cold!
I walk into the store with the bead curtain and the cream soda neon lights,
You know what happens,
Geomorphs click onto fabric chandeliers...
(Flowers whirl and bloom and wilt inside clocks made of glass on the carpet below).
The other boy poured dirt on one of his friends, who laughed,
The other boy poured dirt on one of his friends, who laughed...
Figures threw coal into a metal mouth that spat light, illuminating crooked limbs,
Blinding brightness… dispersing after a few feet like a shotgun round.
Extremely interesting people laugh behind paper mache saloons, where eyes PEEK over
feathered fans and glasses clink on wooden floors.
Movement could be detected but never seen, as if it moves towards blindness,
Delicate laughter stretches long through distance.
Jacob Weil is a student of literature and philosophy at American University.