city.

The dawn commute begins its tuneless song--
a plodding cadence played by weary feet,
a rush in veins transcribed onto the street
where caffeine drones alone outpace the throng.

In time with treadmill lives in squares of white,
the world revolves in cycles of extremes.
The dim demands of old, abandoned dreams
become a breath dissolved by subway light.

A bird's lone shadow interrupts the sky,
a colorless flat curtain for the scene.
From street to street, and every block between,
the grim-faced actors pass each other by.

I swipe a card, and turn the stile, and go
To play my faceless part in this tableau.