sobbing children on a subway train
a puddle of african skin
moaning to the squeals of a violin
about a woman he never knew

i did and i still do
but never during the day
never sobbing on a subway train
unhealthy sex on early sunday mornings

everyone is getting married
and then one by one they all will die
except my advisor and i
immortalized by journals papers on a novel method in A.I.

and the train keeps sobbing gently
even when the chill sneaks in
the tears dry and the solemn hymn
of african skin plays on in my pessimistic vision