the swipe of the yellow card blurs 

the transition between the outside to the underneath

yellow lines separate commuters

from the slick metal torpedoes they await

no time to think or pause or contemplate

is this the right choice, the right path

this is a bronx bound train

a voice telling me that I'm headed the right way

a  pale orange seat, a silver handrail

solid footing, even when I'm unsure headed 

to my next stop, a new destination

always moving forward as long as there is a way to get there

transfer to the 4 downtown 

towards right now's destination 

tomorrow's memory

and yesterday’s dream