The rush of an express train
Cloying wind, machine formed
Falling upon the same;
A false sunrise dawned.
A babble of houses
Viewed, as one, from a track,
A mobile phone espouses
Sky news. Minds go slack.
A wash of green shows trees
Then bushes, too blurred for sight,
Cattle kept from the breeze
Their minds lounge in the light.
Graffito essays, penned in haste
Orbit them, then fade from infamy.
Passengers drift, just as chaste
As centres exert their gravity.
A platform is spilt onto,
by a flood with a tide
that pushes them through
with their minds still applied.
