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  • Black hair like a wave

    Drifts past all the dead flowers

    And newly grown buds

    Past the metal skycrapers

    Grinning dollar signs in the blinding sunshine

    Palm trees, stretching like claws

    Enveloping the streets and sidewalks in a handful of skinny bones

    Above the ground,

    Not near tall enough to touch the clouds.

    The black hair hurries down the stairs

    Slips into her seat

    And falls against the window,

    The raven hues of her hair matching the passing tunnel.

    Her music isn’t loud enough to block out

    The screeches of sadness the subway rails make

    As the train rambles

    Along the same old track

    It passes through every day

    And she wonders

    Why it hasn't wanted to veer off course?

    And like the waves

    She moves and retreats like she is told

    Commanded by the moon

    This way

    And that way

    Right back to where she started

    To the dead flowers and new buds

    Never straying off course

    Just like the ocean

    Which is always there

    The waves just continue to roll in

    Small

    Sometimes big

    Commanded by the face of the night

    Always in and out

    In and out

    Never any other way.

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