Penn Station (A Descent into Hell)

I engrave you, my epitaph
Invisible carvings at the mercy of a spotted window
Markings on a seat in a train
Urgent letters that stand huddled together
Afraid of the others
Sharing space with “I love cock”
As I share legroom with this woman here
Arms of my T’s holding hands
With the other letters in “I’m going to shoot myself today”
But my letters lay like coffins
And can withstand Windex or heavy rubbing
And are somewhat bolder than the others
And are slightly truer

I walk back to my seat
But I have lost my way and I stand in the aisle howling
Aghast at the sight, suddenly
Everyone’s face is the same
One person, hundreds of times, copies
All copies
I want to find my seat
Need to, before the tunnel
Before the final descent

There is a terrible swaying
I shut my eyelids
Eyelids that hang like overlong curtains over my sunken eyes
And I listen
The fluorescents flicker and buzz
The noise of a fly trapped, tapping at the window
A humming, strange song, so familiar, something from long ago

Blurry fluorescents hidden in the quiet
I see them all
Listening to their own song
I hear it too, my friends, don’t despair
We all hear it
Yellow and black lullaby, floating about
Stinging everyone

I find my seat, and just in time
To beat the turbulence of the final descent
I look around and see
One hundred flies in business suits
Pale, scrawny, wings spilling over into the aisles
Next to black Prada bags and Gucci Beige Brown
Swaying in the darkness, one hundred flies
I’ve not much time
To finish this epitaph that I’ve started
And now I have little light
Just streaks from outside the train
Men with their skin stuck to the walls
Holding torches
To light the way for the late arrivals
The Newcomers

I am writing by torch light
I engrave
Tattoo

The Station is not far now
A place unholy
A ramshackle palace built
On ancient ruins
Sodom, Gomorrah

The flies fidget in their seats
I am close
I am close to finishing
The steel screams and claws at the tracks
The torches have been conquered, overtaken
By a light brighter than the sun
A stained, perverted glow
That leaves its prints on the windows
And pools of piss in the corners

We are here
The flies rise and gather in single file
I am almost there
Some flies nervously notice my errant absence in line
But I make it just in time
To see the doors close behind me
And tear my wings away
Leaving roots bleeding down my coat
The others stare
But do not break formation
And circle around
And circle around

The humming is louder here
But still a whisper
It leaks out of the loud speakers like a putrid gas

You can almost see it, I swear

The loud speakers are drooling
Constant streams, directions and numbers
We are prisoners here, we are prohibited
All must comply
The flies must comply


The line moves forward
At my right, a strange sight
A fly playing a guitar with one broken string
Every morning, same fly, same broken guitar
It’s the welcoming hymn and I know it by heart

“Through me you enter the woeful city
Through me you enter eternal grief
Through me you enter among the lost”

I can’t help but sing along, the melody is so catchy

Up ahead, a battered fly lies awkward against the floor
Two of its six jointed legs are broken, hanging
Drinking a Styrofoam cup of unwanted change
Wearing a sign, “Jesus Saves”

I turn my head and try to silence
The loose change chorus in my pocket
It is deafening now, and only now,
Just until the Styrofoam cup is well behind me
And the curtains close on the Nickel and Dime Orchestra

I pass fifty flies staring up at a timetable
There is a female there, cradling her child
A wonderful little maggot, not four days old
I cringe to notice, however
That she is strangling the larva in her bosom
She waits for a track number, she gazes at the board
She doesn’t know what she is doing, she cannot peel her eyes away
It wriggles to no avail
How careless, what a scene! The child has done no wrong!
Can you not feel it squirming about?
It is dying in her arms
I could help it, I could
But I continue walking
I think
“Let Jesus save this one”

Finally, I penetrate the open space
The single file moves quickly now
You can’t see the massive columns, stone giants
Or just how many flies are buzzing around down here
Just the back of the head in front of you
Antennae slicked back, dreadlocks that sway with each step
You see this and you hear a raspy rustling
Like the sound of shackles scraping the pavement
But you never find the source

And then like that, I am five away
It stands there praying, a good ten feet tall
I fix my tie, tuck it, smooth it out
Three
We are prisoners here, around me, columns of stone
Like cell bars
Two
One in front of me

My body shudders
The humming is trumpets blasting
DEAFENING

And then, quiet, he speaks to you

“Good morning,” says the Mantis
Not a good sign, the Mantis is a sardonic fuck
“You shall pass. I am not going to eat you today”

I never smile when he tells me this, it doesn’t matter
I just walk passed, feel the heat of his glowing red eyes
And cower, hoping his grotesque claws
Don’t reach out and catch me
I am at his whim
We are all at his whim

I look back at him to see
This green, jagged creature swallowing a fly whole
It was the guy behind me
The one with the alcohol addiction and a sick mother
His dark brown oxfords stay on as his legs and feet disappear
Behind jaws that sparkle
The eyes snicker, red stamps
Glowing on the back of my eyelids
Tormenting, ever-present
Leave me be!

The Mantis is nightmarish
Gigantic, awkward limbs
Who put you together? What mad scientist created you?
“Did he who made the Lamb make thee?”

I see this thing everyday
When I walk the crusted streets
Laced in barbed wire
Thorns on the curbs
I see it, skulking
Alien spy

But today, I am not devoured
And I snicker, considering my epitaph
Being carried now passed the tree lined streets of Brooklyn
Miles out, heading towards the Island’s tip
Who will see? Who will read it?
Does anyone realize what is happening here?
Are my words accurate, do they foretell?
This mobile tombstone of mine
Where the letters lay like coffins
And can withstand Windex or heavy rubbing
And are somewhat bolder than the others
And are slightly truer

Penn Station, a descent into hell
Pecvniate obedivnt omnia*
A bargain with the Mantis,
You are permitted to pass and go
As long as you leave something behind
-Dies Veneris i Aprilis MMV




*”Money makes the world go round"