Brooklyn Bound Train

I get lost in the moments that fall in between time and place. The way light and reflection help me to further blur those lines. Transitional times. Where if you look into the reflection you see another world where light becomes a phantom on the Q train.

Coney Island

The fog howls in The Cyclone's ribcage.
Starfish stretch and jellyfish tangle
winter rises as interior moons align.
Boardwalk birds pause the otter's bath
cocking ears before continuing to tumble.
Tilt-a-whirl lies still, hunched in defeat
the sand salt infinity catch lines cast to the wind.
Q train drops into underground blue.