Commute
We’re temporarily interred.
The intimate transience of the morning train.
Blood flow in slows in the vein.
Swift reflections take the place of words.
Glancing eyes off silver glass
avert or meet fast-fleeting, in the tube
commuters meld, points commune.
Over intercoms warped commands scratch.
Over intercoms warped commands scratch.
We alight, our faces grave,
stream up stairs and file through silver stiles.
Severed again we dawn thin smiles.
Divided in the wide blue light of day.
Divided in the wide blue light of day.
adamo sacchetti
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