Transit(ion)

How low can you go?
standing in a doorway
between two identical halls
a social gradient
a twenty-something delinquent
framed by taupe walls
frozen in time
broken watches
(archaic timepieces, made obsolete)
deleted
unseated
from a position of authority
downvoted by majority
and so he was ejected
in limbo now
and how
low can he go
will he hit rock bottom
or will something stop him
break his fall
catch and stall
his descent to the conclusion
who cares
smoke and mirrors
an illusion
the last chapter is seldom as satisfying as we anticipate
I can't relate to characters who see no sense in morality
and yet here I am
cast as one again
between two doors
yes, but then
aren't we always?
in transit
in transition
is each moment
not the bridge between two others
and so every second
we take a step
on a bridge over trouble of an unknown depth
and that bridge extends forever
so concerning ourselves
with its beginning and end
is an exercise in futility
and I'm out of shape
I lack resolve
I lack a rhyme scheme
I slack
I wrack my mind for a dream
to transcribe
trainscribed graffiti poetry
on depleted metro cards
it's too hard to focus
I lack attention
I appreciate my own deficiencies
but I'm still just a man
between two doorways
like we all are

A hall is just a series of doorways
A room is just a wide hall
A house is just a series of rooms
A neighborhood is a series of houses

We're in Transit.
We're always in Transition.








that was stupid. meh.