Sorry

How does it go?
140 miles from my haloed
head, my ignorant
pearly bones hunched down
in familiar seats, future
   
     a billion star systems
     burning into the inconsequential
     veins of the subway fabrication
     drawing the late straw
     by minutes unfortunate
 
          I'm left as always, sorry &
          on the outside, a familiar
          stanza, ah, metered apology

remember my cadence,
I'll surely be here again.