Cranking On The Subway Line

Silver music surfs the beams

where soft notes break on rafters crest.

The ritual of encores past

an ask and answer called out clean.

He has a clear and urgent need

to change his place by transference

so slides through space by kicking out.

His soul recoils from flux of life

impulsively he takes the drop

that links the land to passages

winding through the tunnels arc.

The veins beneath the concrete rails

which have become the conduit

to calm the clatter of his thoughts.

He can’t remain within this set

instead, he surfs the main-line down

is caught inside and follows stairs

where caterpillar passage threads.

His audience has closed out now

In time for early dawn patrol

We’re cranking on the subway line.

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This story also appears on Medium by Tree Langdon, the author.