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street music

the buskers lean into their song
spirit clustered tight, soul-snared
in poly-voice, novice subway ears
punched by blue-fisted melody’s cadence

the ear’s conundrum counterpointing 
sophisticated jungle
& simplifying street fusion solos
raw & undeniable

quite a cornucopia of brain waves to feed my exhaustion
on the way to my daily grind
the subway’s rude interlude subsides
& i get the rhythm back & through 
the pounding florescent at 8 in the morning  
i’m awake & coffee-less

remind me that
there’s more to this life 
than the assembly line we’re lame, too quick
to head off to, when
the crowded train platform gives way to a crowded aisle 
inside a cattle car, holding a greasy silver pole for support 
stuffed against other humans & their various versions of humanity
some of it spat aloud, most with newspaper eyes whispering

that uncomfortable twitch
that brain-less silence that’s there because it has to be
passing time until we get where we’re supposed to be
i hear the music from the streets again & i am reminded  

there is work to be done

& it is of the soul

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