>Scene 1: Speeding atop commuter subway, backwards, uncompromisingly peaceful

>The candy flowers fall from somewhere P cannot see
This image he has also stolen
Long ago, as well as the idea
He rides the speedy thing backwards
& in the mornings, everyone at angles jangling
For their morning seat, how he laughed
To himself, like there was someone within
Earshot to receive his hypothetically boisterous laughter
But he would ride them backward
Like, he imagined,
A hapless, bouncing cowboy pulling a 10-gallon hat over his ears
Like, he imagined,
Squeezing his fat head into a child’s itchy, wool sweater
Like, he imagined,
An Indian, (he stole this image, too!) he sat
& not
Like, he imagined,
This Indian, smiled stoopidly & without wondering
Why they are called Indians
But, see this now, P doesn’t have a hat nor a sweater, but
He sits without seeing much of anything in the mousy abovespace
And meditatively commutes, just like them but doesn’t see
On this beautiful Fritz Lang-type thing
& he
Offers sage bits & wise buds & P’s happy there, alone
But where’d all these slowly floating flowers come from?

–for adam