Dwight Stevers: Poetry – Rapid Transit

	Poetry
	Dwight Stevers

Rapid Transit
Lampshade clouds hang on sunlight as miniscule planes crawl antlike on the rim. I dive deep into the mouth of the ground, in the belly of the long white snake. We are food for the bay, the day we all rush toward. The whirring blurring blackness is backdrop to small dramas within. Each moment of relativity a half-remembered dream, competing with chatter and boom boxes, doors opening, doors closing. Each face a map, a schedule, a secret code translated into strings – a genetic train, a sperm fertilizing the city. We shed the excess at each juncture. Unignorable headlines create bubbles of personal boundaries and silence. Tinny tunes on cell phones interrupt the precious commodity of meditation. I breathe deep and close my eyes, preparing for delivery.

Rapid Transit

Lampshade clouds hang on sunlight
as miniscule planes crawl antlike on the rim.
I dive deep into the mouth of the ground,
in the belly of the long white snake.
We are food for the bay,
the day we all rush toward.
The whirring blurring blackness
is backdrop to small dramas within.
Each moment of relativity
a half-remembered dream,
competing with chatter and boom boxes,
doors opening, doors closing.
Each face a map, a schedule,
a secret code translated into strings –
a genetic train, a sperm fertilizing the city.
We shed the excess at each juncture.
Unignorable headlines create bubbles
of personal boundaries and silence.
Tinny tunes on cell phones interrupt
the precious commodity of meditation.
I breathe deep and close my eyes,
preparing for delivery.

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