Eve became a subway refugee,
learned about life in a tomb.
Strange beasts
beat their feet
against concrete;
not all snakes
hustle and hiss
in the same way
(she caught on to that quickly).
The activity of bodies and machines
(hot with the herd and rumbling wheels)
would have reminded Eve of life at home,
but nothing here is left to circumstance.
Movement is an infernal dance,
always dead on schedule.
Sterile breezes bored Eve
with a stale, lifeless smell;
old newspapers and dust
respectively exchanged
dates and place but never seemed new
in their insistent consistency.
Only a minor glance for Eve
after the train spasms with an echo.
The track breeds indifferent children
(all with a splash of her blood).
Nakedness loves company;
Eve felt cold in her offspring's shadows
(they were raised by natural cruelty
in the halogen sun of the tunnels).



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