Copper eyed man
at the ticket counter
gave some unflattering coins.
I sat on some utilitarian
poetic bench with
business thoughts in grey matter
and basaltic tie around the neck.
Lovers quarreling in the background
not sure who’s preaching who.
A fella with candle legs
talked about calculus stuff
with his nerd-guilt face friend.
One girl with black rose lips
was giving practiced goodbyes
with her wooden palms.
Cigarette ashes on the floor.
People filled till the concrete shore.
While I am listening
to the cinnamon song
which I played before.
— Drunken Platforms.
Thy Vox 
Published by