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Thank You Lord, For Sending Me The F Train

Mike Doughty

The dark is droppping like a spot
of black ink squeezed into a glass of water,
And now the crowds are thinning out
into the light down in the subway station.

Here, this train speeds underground
This train speeds under the river

And I will drift back to the slope,
Some face unlit, there, stuck into the incline,
Where I will sleep off all the noise
the soot accumulated,
All my trials

I thank you
Lord almighty up above
Just for sending out the F train to me

So thankful
For all the unspent love
That I save up in the jar of money

Your polaroid is on the wall,
Stuck in the crack between the door and door-frame,
Trapped in the middle of some laugh,
Some drunken joke some friend of yours was telling.