We don't take the Train, the Train takes us.

I sit down in the window seat
and set my bag down beside me.
I need to be alone.
The train begins its epileptic convulsions
and screeches from within itself 
like it has Tourette's,
but my only affirmation 
that this train is in motion
is the blur of the 
people on the platform 
rushing past me. 

Except they aren't the ones rushing.
If I try hard enough, 
if my pupils are quick enough,
I can see that they are trapped in time
as I rush past them,
and for an instant I can witness a lover's kiss.
For an instant I can witness a hobo's piss.
I can be a friend to a loner, 
or a stoner.
For an instant I can turn the page 
of my favorite book being held by wise, old hands.
For an instant I can burn with rage 
at a mother beating her son with foolish, young hands.
I can flash a dirty look at that girl I hate.
I can lock eyes with my soul mate.
For an instant I am alive,
and then there is darkness.

But until then I will feed my soul 
with more instants than it can bear to hold
because I don't know where this life is taking me
but I do know that the next stop is Columbus Circle-59th Street.

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