There he was, waiting for another train. He was so sick of the subways. Always late. Dirty. Noisy. Flying maniac kids dancing for dollars. Bad musicians. Endless panhandlers. And the so-called ... [+]
It started with your betrayalyour pleas for my forgiveness.You expected hell firebut your eyes metan uncomprehending stare,with frosty blocks of syllables,I'm going to bed now.Don't forget to feed the cat,and we lay not touchingstiff on a glacial sheet.So it continues, our homeno longer refuge but a housereflecting the raw chill of winter,the black ice of the pondthe shards hanging from our roof,You beg me to speak to you,properly, talk it through.I shake my head, numb.You coax me with yellow rosesfor devotion. I put them in waterfor their sake, not yours.You're an iceberg, you saybut my feeli