Black morning.
Clouds, muggy and moody,
Smother the mouth
of the city.
Thousands of bodies
Slide to the grind,
Underground.
Faces straight and indifferent.
Lost
in folds of paper
and fatigue.
Walls plastered with
Where to go
What to wear
What to buy
Thousands of bodies,
Thousands of faces.
Each a different form
of an endless You.
Ideation in the Underground… very evocative.
It’s a precious thing to stay clear-headed and expansive in the heaving hubbub of the commuter circuit.