bus ride
gaze into the window
across the metal river
that your feet are almost dipping into
see the reflection of you
warp and curve at the edges
the world directed in on itself
you, encapsulated
diaphanous in the film
the hurricane breath of a bubble
colors runny and twisted and vibrant as a storm
gaze into the window
and your mind goes quiet
so that the transient static
living in this strange plane of existence
can filter freely through the sieve of the ceiling
and trickle out as thoughts
notice how loud silence can be
when there’s nothing else
but the rush, rush, rush
of things moving around you
the exhilaration of
a fixed point in time and space
centered
and thrillingly limited
perception fragmenting the outside into pieces
as your eyes catch
and watch the wild spin
as street signs change their names
and flashing metal lights
untouchably fast
a front for your unblinking eyes
the show advertised
and the still, neon whisper
that you too, run electric
