Call Me On My Cell Phone

You are nothing but sound bites
As you spit words into cell phones on
Fluorescent trains hurtling through a
Cold black hole night in the suburbs of New Jersey
These blue pleather seats that have supported thousands
Of teenagers crying into microphones and
Drowning out the world in blank noise
The movements are silent but the metallic sheen
The camaraderie of one-sided conversations
Of looking into screens and smiling at the soft jokes
That hit the heart are all proof that
The progression is forward but who could say
To what degree we point our noses upward
Or downward into the warmth of an organic earth
Still in spite of ourselves

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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