CHiLD-0F-THE-BEAT
Bluelighter
.:Slumber in a tin can:.
She wakes, rouses slowly
Shakes her body softly down
Her eyes blink at the light
That burns through the glass.
The suburbs wash past
The thickened window panes
Their muted colours are
Mixing
Dancing
Melting
In the dried orange sun.
She lends a creaking care
To the child across the aisle
Whose nose is oozing
Sniffling, moaning
Red faced, tight, annoyed.
Then ringing tones shriek and pierce
The muffled morning murmurs.
Legs shuffle
Eyes dart
And many bodies shift.
They move in a constant state
Of waiting, watching
Thinking, choosing
Wandering with purpose
Towing their own lines through the streets.
She wakes, rouses slowly
Shakes her body softly down
Her eyes blink at the light
That burns through the glass.
The suburbs wash past
The thickened window panes
Their muted colours are
Mixing
Dancing
Melting
In the dried orange sun.
She lends a creaking care
To the child across the aisle
Whose nose is oozing
Sniffling, moaning
Red faced, tight, annoyed.
Then ringing tones shriek and pierce
The muffled morning murmurs.
Legs shuffle
Eyes dart
And many bodies shift.
They move in a constant state
Of waiting, watching
Thinking, choosing
Wandering with purpose
Towing their own lines through the streets.
