No one checks your ticket. Outside

the train, whales arch across noise

                        and blue static. Take off

            sodden sneakers, socks.

Get comfy. You didn’t bring a book.

                                    Watch your window.
Split lightning flashes /

            clouds seeded with bats

over slurred vine / bruised fruit pelts

out the knees of toothpick huts

/ arch from mud. The swelling shore

licks the palace lidded on bamboo / sway.
            The train pulls to a stop

            to take the tide in, with a few

            tired eyes, dripping.
The next town lit up radioactive:

            neon on puddle / every store

a corner store, each street one bodega long

/ a maze of corners / each  sign a lighthouse

 ;  ; 
            Doors shut on blurry glow

            of adjectives. A tunnel.
A man in red embarks and slides

a red umbrella in beside you.

            “What’s your blood type?” and you

            point to your headphones / shrug / he thinks

you’re pointing to your neck. Nearly miss your stop.
Squelch. Into pavement’s grey inch of water.

Doors slurp — your shoes inside

            and gone. Your lover won’t pick up his phone.
                        Cross the city’s heft / a wet cat / awning

            to awning / feet blistered and pruned.
His apartment.

He laughs at the dank surprise of you.

            “That’s sweet. But I have company.”

Foyer so white, his teeth glow. Ha. The elevator’s

big mouth. He leads you to a room you’ve never seen.

An aquarium.            You’re so tired of water.

In the tank, women float like weeds.
                        “These / my former loves” / fingertips

            on glass: “I wanted / to think them over.”
Fumble in your pocket for the ticket home. Breathe

faster. His teeth again. He leads you to his waterbed, slicks

blonde hair		/ watches you.
                        Morning retraces hot steps on stone.

            Buy clear gumboots in the market square. Fail to find

            a hot breakfast. 
At the station, a machine dispenses novels.

Choose one about a child detective. Block

your lover’s number, pick the longer route

home, unblock the number, crack

the book’s spine            / crack your own.
The train hurtles over railed ocean, past

            disused amusement rides hoisted on

old sailing ships / a city of pirate rigs in rags

/ rollercoasters link decks / Ferris Wheels spin

                        listless off of masts.
In the sky, no movement.