All we have
is a rhythm of stepping feet,
splashing water
and bobbing flashlights.
The tunnel walls don't need to be bright
for us to walk within them
yet our shadows still splash
across those walls, keeping away
the veil of insanity
that would surely sweep in
with the darkness and
             (The madness!
             The sameness!
             Moloch! Moloch!
             We too are in Rockland!)
consume us. A nagging whisper says
that I never really entered here
and never really will leave.
But
the echoing drip
of a leak in the tunnel's wall.
But the echo
of those tiny drops breaking
the infinite sameness of our infinite trudge
through the tunnel-- breaking
this ghastly haze of smoggy still air--
breaking even
the monotony of our slow footsteps
through water
and settled sediment as we pause
and say
             "Shhh, shhh,
             do you hear that?"
             "Why, yes
             it's a dripping sound!"
             "Keep walking,
             let's see what's ahead"
so out we then burst
into the starry dynamo
of the night