Another poem called "Time."
Time goes by, day trailing day.
It passes me by
And somehow fades like a stealthy black cat,
Like an old scar,
Like a recently cleaned express subway car lit up boldly inside.
There it goes, loudly clacking,
Gradually passing the local subway
car covered with graffiti,
In which I sit, sighing, watching golden
windowed time slide by.
Both trains move.
One moves faster.
Wait up, no.