subways are where humans of all kinds clog together with a common purpose

subways are where humans of all kinds clog together with a common purpose

to go into the city

then we separate our ways

some to work, to fun, to visit a husband in prison, or a grandmother’s grave, to errands nefarious

8:45am

the passengers of this train will soon become part of an organism called new york city

on the fringes, we glide above the ashen streets on iron tracks and stone walls

brick and glass reach with greater ambition at each stop

baychester, gun hill, pelham, morris park

more and more of us enter, on and up and in

around 125th, the city chokes out sky and we are forced to descend under the streets and basement apartments

the buildings far above grow richer still, but all that can be seen of them is flashes of orange and blue light, the tips of their senses and nerve endings and copper roots sparking with electricity and warning of danger

power systems on the other side of the turnstiles, up stairs and escalators, in the light of floor to ceiling penthouse house windows, don’t exist down here

those with the least to loose are kings and queens of this fluorescent world

the owners of titles and mortgages ride at the pleasure of the unemployed

and as long as everyone minds themselves

the train fulfills it’s purpose

moving blood through the veins

turning people into city

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