Three Poems

(read here) / The Quietus 


The fact is she fell asleep on the train, and they took
everything they could carry. First her unlabeled brown bag,
her wallet with one credit card. Then they pinched her hat
from the top and plucked it gently off.
Her leather gloves were pulled from the fingertips,
sneakers fully unlaced. They unwound her scarf,
revealing a skin that would freckle in summer.
Her coat was taken, her pants undone
and shimmied carefully down both legs.
The shirt, conveniently a button-down, was pulled by a hand
at her back. Bra unclasped, underwear snipped, socks,
slightly sweaty, were slid off and rolled back together.

She slept on, the hairs on her bare forearms erect. The train

rose from the thick dark onto the bridge above
the night of the city and she ascended, her cool skin around
her; the place she at last could fill
with the unregulated productions of her desire.




Mark