Track Work

A short poem

The track work of your city
is hidden from sight
inhabitants scurry under
like rats in a labyrinth.

People dot the plains
of your concrete slabs
so painfully exposed
by the lack of others
milling around them.

Your beauty is vastness
never allowed to be contained
the personification of expanse
the great divide in Modern times
to be lost in your streets
is not quite as easy
as it may seem
but I fell for you
despite your lack of closeness
and in spite of all
your every inch keeps catching me
like I want to be caught.

Your track works may disgust,
may enthrall, cause others to reexamine
but I am found and lost
in your tapering lines
that never seem to find a place
always stretching out
like arms held at a distance
the people within it
warm my cold insides
I am inherently frigid
and their need to find a place
for me to sit among them
is unique and certainly
a thing of beauty
in itself
find me and lose me
all within yourself.