kegel

the pillars are shaking,

crowds push through each other
sweat gathers in public bus seats...
evaporates onto the things we hold...

a bus ride alone
taken in company of many years of clinging drops
each poured from a different sieve of skin.

the fingerprinted poles that hold the bus and people together

despite the varying weather

the bus is a bottomless pit.
where there is a traveler, it will screech up door open and swallow him into its midst.

in the pit, traffic could turn 15 minutes into 50,
stiff odors could turn a brisk highway wind into cheesy shoes and pistol underarms stretched across the heads of the seated to a window
where the wind tickles the filth into our noses

and the plea of an old lady will be heard despite the right aching shin pressed into the hard latitudinal plastic of a seat
and the left foot
slowly deadened sandwiched between the indomitable thigh of a market woman and the inconsiderate wildness of playing schoolboys with T-squares.

the pillars are shaking
and everywhere at the same time
everyone looks up
and wonders what just happened...

was it a flash of light
or did the eyes blink without instruction
is everyone else wondering the same thing...

the pillars are shaking
and locals grow tired of tourist slave plots
but fed through the holes in their heads with enough cable signals
they remain hopeful and obedient.

the pillars are shaking while the worlds most powerful women push money
into the thongs of their daughters
the mouths they feed through debauchery
and the smiling girl with a kegel of locks on the second to last row
who would love for a man to call her empress...
she feels like a wheel a come again, like a haul and pull up,
but whats she seeks to be is a brand new track.

while the world,
tired with itself,
finds freedom in rebelling from its norms,
but never finds freedom in free space.