Train stations and maps
lay the world bare
in blue and red lines
like scars
telling you where you are
in this town
where we lay ourselves down
watching downtrodden humanity
in raindrops on windows
and a plastic bag
driven by the wind
to God knows
are we as flimsy as this?
Our fragility is strong
a bruise upon our cheeks
writing maps on our skin
telling us where we are
without telling us our place
what use is a train
if we don’t know where we’re going to, anyway?