Songs of subways overhead press out

the language of day as they

weave, screeching the overload

in corners, releasing sparks while heads inside

sway without control.

Shadow art on the pavement below scripts

across cars and people, into alleys then

splashes jaggedly onto store fronts.

The aroma of diesel fuel, creosol,

standing water, barrooms, exhaust and

steaming garbage rise to a flavor but its

mostly ignored.

Subway doors hiss open.  Sullen sweaty

anxious eyed passengers file out,

shoulders touching then turn to slip by;

everyone finds a place to go.

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