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A train of thought
With its narrow windows.
Snapshots of the world.
Sit down next to each other
And see the world flying by.
Nigdaw Sep 26
Black rain falls
ice cold
emotionless

desolate tarmac roads
puddles of ugliness form
devouring light
drawing in the world
dark matter
the abyss lies beyond
headlight's reach

reflected buildings distort
as cars spin
aquaplaning tyres
across mirrored
mercurial surfaces

downdraught suppresses
exhaust fumes
as dragon automobiles
slither their hissing way
neon lit fire breathing
monsters of road and byway

home is measured
by the length of the next queue
rather than miles per hour
Artificial city-dwellers
Discard all humanity
Carbon fired tin cans
Pierce the serenity.

Anonymous collisions
Fifty floors below
Each passer by a stranger
You will never know.

Pedestrians, travellers
And their vehicles
Droplets in a river,
Altering the tidal flow.

Irrigation passages
Absorb the elements
Hedge fund panellists,
Bankers and workers flee.

Eye rolling baby boomers
Sit, tutting one by one.
Nervous millennials adorned
In clothes for moths to eat.

Breaking point carriages
Century old tunnelling
A lone foot tapping
And quiet page turning.

Brakes hit the track
Piercing the murmur
Eighty jarred necks
External motion blur.

Sliding carriage doors
A not-so-subtle beep
Dust kicked from dawn
Falls onto the city streets.

Blue tower inhabitants
Busting out of the seams
Water molecules collide
But nothing sinks the fleet.

Smartly suited eye-darters
Push and pull for space
Rolling up the banks
Humanity erased again.

I settle on the brickwork
Until the storm retreats
Circadian commuters
Run to rest their feet.

A few lonely meanders remain
Wondering down the beach
Forlorn festivies fog over
Swinging shop-signs squeak.  

As the lighting rig descends
And once blue ceiling stains
The beige brickwork turns red
The high tide admits defeat.

Pink light turns to navy blue
A faint moonbeam lights the sky
Obscured by one cloud then a few
Vague incandescence lights the scene.

The streetlights flicker overhead
One worn out passenger now leaves
Shrouded, cold, hungry and fulfilled;
Abandonment for some is peace.
Kenopsia: The eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.
Juhlhaus May 2
Gravel mounds in the mist
Are the mountain ranges of fantasy,
Spring green, eerie seen
Through commuter train windows.

Pitched roofs recede
Into infinite distance,
And junkyard parking lots are legion
In the gray suburban obscurity.

Factories and landfills loom,
Monuments and masoleums,
The labor and the leavings
Of Earth's little colossi.
Musing on the view from a morning commuter train.
Sun falls, reflecting a blinding light
Across rivers ripple
Where flashes of dying blue
Allude the impending gloom.

Above, the sky a benign passage
Of fading warmth
Sits cloudless and still,
Forming a backdrop to
Silhouettes of brutal
Fabrication,

A scene, harmonious in juncture
Between days end
And the fleeing hoards.

© Richard Duffy. All rights reserved
Reflections from an autumnal evenings commute, leaving the city by push bike as the light faded.
Dark wooded hills
float on grey clouds.

Their raindrops
whipping tiny scars
across tempered glass.

My jaded mind
melds into nothing.

The day is past
and I past the day.

Moving in circles
without goal.
Juhlhaus Jan 23
A sidewalk canvas
Half done slush
An oil slick
Twice frozen ice
And boots that slip
A train just missed
The red eyes glare
Rain that floats
In sour air
Brutalized concrete
Bleeding rust
Filthy floors
And alley walls
Spent cigarettes
In every nook
Steel that shrieks
In cold protest
Blue lights
And a defiant poet
On every corner
An inventory of materials.
OpenWorldView Jun 2018
Wake
  Wash
    Eat
      Commute
        Work
          Eat
    ­    Work
      Commute
    Eat
  Wash
Sleep
Invocation Nov 2018
Little girl peeling in Orange in traffic
with your favorite fingernail
I love to watch you attack
tear off the skin chunks and save them in a jar in your car because the smell makes you feel so far away
it's very clean-smelling
This cold little orange
it's a dragon ball in dragon hands
My sore throat needs this
Sindi Kay Oct 2018
***** subway floors
Good commutes

Suicide
Up these Gotham city walls

Water dripping down a ***** stall

Cold winter cough you can hear
Homeless mans stare
on your case
Guilt and relief mold your face
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