Behind the Yellow Line

Sometimes I stand on the yellow tape
that runs along the elevated space
where we wait for the L train.

I wait, hovering close to the edge,
so close that if the conductor stuck his head out
it would potentially collide with mine
and both our skulls would crack like the Liberty Bell
on the day it was rung.

I think of this moment a lot.
The moment we sensationalize,
the moment we only feel once but never when or how we expect to-
death
takes us each on its own terms.

I like watching the train like “bring it” eyes narrowed,
heart beat accelerating,
and almost for a minute, on occasion,
I manage to fool myself.

Don’t get me wrong,
I want nothing to do with death-
but I like the rush.

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