Beneath East River

On the way home from
her brownstone notice:
one still lit cigarette
burn out. that's it.
no trains untimely missed.
the signs aren't clear
and anyway you're tired, so
tired you're hardly human.

who knows.

you're nice and you've always
been nice. But you wanted
and still want to yell:
what the hell do you want.
you want to know what you want.

when there's nothing to say
have sex. then ride the train
away away like you'll never
return. Like a cowboy gypsy mystic.
Like a worn-out bag-eyed teacher.
The sound of sobbing over snoring is
the worst you've ever made.
Pause when your train tucks
beneath East River. wonder
if the subtext of "I care"
is "I won't love you."
(It is.)