If The Moon Were a Stop On The Subway

We’d pull up to a crater and stall, imagine the tides
Storm the fine works of track, the dispatcher who relays an eclipse,

The dark side at the end of the line,
the express buzzing through stars,
The topsy tervey moon our own fine detour,
dunes aglow where passengers lie buried,

The rock a rickety halt, exits where we can’t tell,
A grind into a station deep in space, perhaps a transfer to Hell.

Jason Visconti