Friday, September 3, 2010

The Orange F

The slick silver snake slid through a tight dark tunnel
The twisted metal ached and squealed.
I felt the inertia push and pull me like an invisible wave.
Screams and laughs laced under
The piercing echo of a child screaming for it’s mother
Voices in cheer and in anguish
Each convey a mental state to the other passengers.
Coats brushing against against each other indicate a sense of
Hustle and bustle between the mechanical shutting of doors.
The heavy scent of perfume and bleach slid its way up my nose.
A smell that struck me as civilized and insane
Like a beach blanket covered in snow.
A bright green gum slapped the roof of my mouth
As my tongue milked it’s green apple flavor
With the slide of a yellow card metal turns
An underground world of spaghetti steel slides
I laid my head back and tried to envision
Being hurled under sky scrapers
Those that twinkle and glow in the night sky.
Just another layer of a complex means to movement
The F train is know for it’s pumpkin orange color and it’s easy uptown run.
Much like a sprinter being pushed by some unknown force to beat his best time.
I attentively listen to each second tick tock away.
Broadway and Lafayette next run Second Avenue.
A gruff speaker replaces my conscious mind
Now I slip under a colony of ants.
Knowing the world they are in and not
The universe in which they exist.

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