Classic Poem

Under the river the train
in a breathless tunnel rolls
enchanted with me inside
we emerge in 66
degrees crepuscular rays
a ghost’s face looks in at me
I say the next part loudly
dusty workers get on board
their days are unimagined
the only true radical
way to be in the city
is not very beautiful
the little screens every one
looks at are covered in ghosts
while I read a poem by my friend
after the meeting my plan
is to enter the dark heart
of the landscape
a woman painted silver
stands outside on the sidewalk
waiting to ask for my coins