Rebecca Black

Miss B. Misses the Train

In your city of funiculars,

of staggering

turns, in your city

of drawls hydraulic

(yes’ms and no’ms),

delusions wave handletter’d

signs.  In the metropolis,

something is always

being stolen, alarum

itself is commandeered.

Even you are a snatched

vehicle, vamping

in a mink stole,

searching the necropolis

for souls to galvanize.

Explicit Vaudeville.

You’ve lost

the same watch twice,

decided to make some time.

Before the days divided

neatly into hours

to be mined,

the nights were ours.

You wake up feeling

like you’re out of time.

Nobody’s arms wind

tight around your ticking.