South Station

Joseph Massey
Jun 15 · 1 min read

Retaining wall graffiti twists
into a word: a kind of sound,
closed vowel, filtered through

a bus window. Massachusetts —
this chewed-up surface
of brick and leftover color.

Image is always afterimage.

Smashed factory windows
flash black in overgrowth

and mask my vision.

That, too, is a kind of sound.

Cold collapses
anything I’d think
or think to say.
November’s wiry
reticulation, the
dull glint between
locust branches.

Sparrow in
a planter, in
a fugue state,
kicking up mulch
by the metal bench
where we sit.

The weightlessness
of your face on my arm.

The Junction

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Thanks to Stephen M. Tomic.

Joseph Massey

Written by

“A Massey poem is a revelation of place.” (NY Times) My book A New Silence will be released from Shearsman in July. www.josephmasseypoet.net.

The Junction

The Junction is a digital crossroads devoted to stories, culture, and ideas. Our interests are legion.