man dies on a track.
man lived on a track
can't figure out where he went off course
of course
because from afar man was always on track
man on track
man on track
train is coming
but the man is still on track.
couldn't stop to see what passed him by
couldn't stop to see what was right in front of him
couldn't see through darkened windows
to the light at the end-
lights at the end of the tunnel
approaching
man on track
man on track
train is coming
but I couldn't stop--
-- --
-- --
-- --
-- --
the man on track
the blood on track
the melted snow, the rotting rats, the discarded possessions
the piss the puke the pandemonium
on track
the running and the feet and the crowds and the haze
on track
the life of the lives of the living
on track
the trip trip tripping and the drip drip dripping
and the drop drop drop
on track
of track on track
keeping track of
track on track on track on track.
monday morning comes and the trains are running back-- -- while the stale subway gutters glean a darker sheen of red, and everyones' lives are right back-- --to normal.
About Me
- Natalia
- Art is the space where cultures coalesce, the medium in which people culminate to create, and the time when coexistence is not only possible but compulsory. Dance is the language of those who cannot be heard, poetry the eyes of those blinded by surrounding injustices, theatre the space where one transcends the boundaries of one’s given circumstances. Art liberates, empowers, and heals. It conceives when humanity destructs. I never crawled when I was learning how to locomote. I sat and then I waddled and now I dance. I am a recent Phi Beta Kappa graduate of Psychology and Dance from Stanford University.
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