2 December 2004 | Vol. 4, No. 4

Ashes in Grand Central Terminal

Weather descends the stone steps—

sea of hats, hoods, shoulders

headed to the trains. Somehow I remain

sandy, coral continues

to cut, the ankle

closing month after month.


Oyster Bar underground. A stranger

needs an ashtray—

Drunk. Warm-looking skin.

His eyes cross

two detach