01-17-2011, 11:32 AM
Here I am lost
in a swirl of cliches,
as I stare
through condensation
and hand prints
on the window of the bus,
to see shoppers,
the homeless,
the mentally ill,
the station workers
and the lovestruck students,
transients following
their own routes,
making stops, breaking down,
picking up passengers,
before finally stopping
at a terminal,
never able to return,
to turn the thing around
and drive all the way back,
to here, where we started,
where the bus departed,
with me staring
through the window at them.
in a swirl of cliches,
as I stare
through condensation
and hand prints
on the window of the bus,
to see shoppers,
the homeless,
the mentally ill,
the station workers
and the lovestruck students,
transients following
their own routes,
making stops, breaking down,
picking up passengers,
before finally stopping
at a terminal,
never able to return,
to turn the thing around
and drive all the way back,
to here, where we started,
where the bus departed,
with me staring
through the window at them.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe
