Crooked Corridors

Crooked Corridors“[…]Until I step into the subway
and voices give way

to the insinuation of a trumpet
slipping phrases like hot silk
through these tunnels

and I think of you
who are farther away
than next door, and how we have lit

a candle more than once
to something we cannot see,
something strange and sliding and uncontrollable

like this music
winding through the porcelain
of these crooked corridors

until it slips through a grate
and fades between a siren and a horn.”

Excerpt from Stephen Cramer’s “Sunday”

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