If you stood still,
and depend
only on the earth’s rotation,
the change you sorely seek
will come - but not too soon.

If you could wait no longer,
elect to move along
with the ground,
you’d soon enough find
as your ceiling
- new skies.

i) up the stairs
red scarves and tight skirts
loose slacks and grey shirts
my how the landscape has changed
I can’t say that I love to be dipped into this *** of pretty
where the lipstick liner queens supreme
and the coffee is brewed to mitigate the colostomy retch
so I try a yellowed paper backed beat
but it held nothing to the shoebox diorama
of national care
where the alphabetised gates of ingress
more or less double as departure lounge
for the broken and spent where their god
might sit them on fashionably backed chairs
for the percentile of misplace repairs
or is it me that smells of warm ****?

ii) down the travelator
a troll lives under the MRI,
moved on from the bridge by the gruffest of beards,
now working externally of the fable
beneath the table of the magnetic eye

staring at the people in the nexus of transition
some are walking, jogging,
or dragging their bits and pieces behind them
lumping and ******* across linoleum seams with a clatter
and blitzing along on a travelator
any two of them heading to or coming from a different location
where you're bound and how fast you need to go
or are you right where you need to be
or you're content just going nice and slow
it's microcosmic I see