A Metro In Guangzhou

We assimilate

Ourselves. 

The curtain comes up, 

Upon a man with torpid lungs, 

From smoke out of stress, 

From stress out of people. 

The slant of shoulders, 

And a lofty impressing head, 

Eyes hanging in the middle distance, 

Absolute and vacant, 

Impressively ignorant, 

Of the walls,

And

Of the endless shoals, 

And 

Each unit in each shoal, 

Possessed of two wandering eyes, 

Beady and absentmindedly searching, 

These spaces for something curious. 

The tunnel closes in, 

And in the space of five minutes, 

Whole days can hinge, 

Moods slant or droop, 

A day in the life extinguished, 

By this pain, 

This attention, 

Rocking abrasively somewhere, 

Around my chest. 

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