The clocks are quickly ticking, rushing me further onward,
Yet nothing really seems to change aboard this grand train.
The starting station is long a forgotten sight from afar,
As a million only well-dressed people shut the curtain to hunt a star.
No things will halt The Times today, or our most important endeavours
Five down is completed now and – I stumble! (the train’s slowing judders)
Christ, my leg! – it’s filthy down here…. And I find suddenly there's no time for care
Glancing through the compartment door – no: I’m transfixed, and I stare
Goodness. A gracious bombardment of purest light,
Crystalline, through the porthole’s grime.
Refracting into purples, and blues, and yellow sights!
So this is how beauty blossoms, allowed time.
Suits, ties, over-priced liquidised decadence
Are overcome, barely visible, amidst her the flower’s resonance
And blissfully reducing my colleagues to uttering, babbling nonsense
Until I hear the gunshot crack
The wheels regain motion
Re-shredding morals to smithereens
Though I cry, desperate to see her through bloodshot eyes
She’s left me only dark red puddles though the doorway
