she pass and carry me over
without a chance to recover
from these close encounters.
at apex`s time and rush hours,
as eyes following the railways
to some predictable future where
everything is open...
nowadays our discrete gravity only wants
the fragile match between our wardrobes
multiplying husbands and wives by miracle
and imaginary seasons with perfect yellow
that we never cease to wear or dream or cry,
all shattered moons colliding
the same symptomatic orbit.
as she pass, she pass away...
as i follow the same steps
of yesterday with critical
mass and our dead weight
crossed and never shared.
as time goes i remain underground,
trying to convince myself,
on stationary states that she
awaits for me beyond the mourn of
crowds as separate being to embrace
any compendium of minimal gesture
or the dreadful institute of unknown,
what constellations stalls in our daily
rhythm, never ending planets in slow
motion.
ramon lvdiaz
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/habitual-flow-on-metro-stations/
