8/13/2019 Subway Scrying

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Villard Cord, Crossroads 29 th , 29\21/04/12

Subway Scrying _ _ _ _

Trains they click and clock and knock

Whos there?

Only winds and moulds and cra ckles by the metal rods

And you watching me in the tinkling obscurity of glass, staring eyes at my blurring reflection.

What do you scry?

We are like pictures in the tremoring sub-gallery

An artist of two spirits underground

There we are, acquainted through the subway lens: two persons of our third imagination.

When you turn your head to see, if I am real you see different me. Profile me. Plain portrait, sealed

in corridor of lights, and seated bodies. But you seek the eyes, waiting for the sign the turn and almost

whispering

Are you the one?

Am I?

No No.

And then re-play. Re-staring at each other, we re-make our momentary art, which would at any

time re-place the models. Them have left, and now we are subjects of the subway scrying.

What do I scry?

While the train is squishing night before us While people hide in tones and roles, and scores

Still do we stare at each others snapshots on the tinted glass. Exchanging frames

This is a triangle of life: reverse and not. There, on its top, were pleased to know each other.

But our bodies not.

8/13/2019 Subway Scrying

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Villard Cord, Crossroads 29 th , 29\21/04/12

Sub-window

Me You

Sub-Me. Sub-You. Sub-scry. Next station is the end of my soul sub-way.

Our fantasy shall rapidly decay

Such were my thoughts, desires and delusions. The train arrived. The station called my name. Then

doors unveiled the womb: to let the glow-worms open to the sky.

Yet, not for me.

I saw you leaving wearing my body.

Just for free.

Soon after, you will cross out S from Scrying, crying of being me

_ _ _ _

Thus, spoke him off the underground glass.

_________

They changed for each others reflections.

On the 29 th day of the moon...