The Rolling Dead: Entry #1

Given that I can't record episodes of The Commute while riding the train, I've been using (some) of that time working on a series of vignettes, essays, and other short and and assorted ramblings inspired by the time of public transport.   Working title is The Rolling Dead.

Selected entries will make appearances as time goes on, but here's a quick outtake:


As Much as I Can Say About My Seat
Before Arriving at Wilshire and Western

Safe from stain,
Jackson Pollock as urban camouflage.
The choice of colors and patterns
matched to our biology.

Speckles of blue and black
that tire
the cells of our eyes,
rods and cones chaotic,
like television static.
"Dithering" is what graphic
artists call it.
Which, you know,
appropriate in context.

Across the dithered field
long ropy ribbons of
yellow meets orange mixing to red,
splayed out in bursts and splots.
I wonder what discharge
this is meant
to mimic.

Bile green streaks
and curls,
like the splash of a cough against glass.

Dip-dip dots in rough
but clear lines, like a spill
from cup or vein.

This is our last stop.
Thank you for riding.