Smoke curled up from cigarettes,
blowing plumes of gray air from ashy lips.
The dark smell was swept away
with the roaring of the Q train,
and maybe I was swept away with it.
Maybe I was another click on the floor tiles,
another smudge on the dirty subway door,
another featureless mystery,
riding the train car to a destination.
Maybe my thoughts were washed away
(courtesy of the midnight rain),
maybe my soul was scythed from my heart,
(thanks to the thin curve of the crescent moon).
Or maybe, I’m looking
(for a someone or a something)
to bring color to the dark, dusty space that shares my name,
but for now,
I ride the dirty subway car.