The feet commend the escalators, wise,
Perhaps, yes. No hurry here.
So many trains, so many things to fear
And nothing moves but lies and alibis
In search of something less than action
More than brief delight, a slight distraction
In a brief but numbing journey from less to satisfaction.
Cables flash, that sudden lurch, light abstraction
Sends them tumbling yet they stand their posts
And are not moved unless it be some final
Transfer from incarnation through the wall; a spinal
Tap away in increments, epiphanies in search of hosts
Who until now have given less than ought
To how they lived or what their sanity has cost.