Reverb

there’s a special kind of sound 
only found in concrete 
rattling underground echoes
barreling down old tunnels

in the meantime, 
​I made a crown from burnt grounds 
so I could pretend I was the king 
of subway station singers

busking for a breath of fresh air 
but mostly breathing in 
fluorescent spray paint and
cyan cigarette smoke

living underneath mountains of steel
dotted with nylon pine and runoff rivers of eroding oil and grime

overflowing trash cans and train cars 
packed in with baseball fans and businessmen
short-haired girls and long-haired boys
swaying back and forth and
eyeballs following brass maps 
to rooftop graffiti eulogies
streaming comfort food into 
compressed personal space

process poems through a fish-eye lens
pay rent through venmo and make
leftovers out of old records
fall in love with words with no meaning 
find songs in steel strings, handshakes
half asleep jaywalks, and 
prerecorded public transportation