she pass and carry me over <br />without a chance to recover <br />from these close encounters. <br />at apex`s time and rush hours, <br />as eyes following the railways <br />to some predictable future where <br />everything is open... <br /> <br />nowadays our discrete gravity only wants <br />the fragile match between our wardrobes <br />multiplying husbands and wives by miracle <br />and imaginary seasons with perfect yellow <br />that we never cease to wear or dream or cry, <br />all shattered moons colliding <br />the same symptomatic orbit. <br /> <br />as she pass, she pass away... <br />as i follow the same steps <br />of yesterday with critical <br />mass and our dead weight <br />crossed and never shared. <br /> <br />as time goes i remain underground, <br />trying to convince myself, <br />on stationary states that she <br />awaits for me beyond the mourn of <br />crowds as separate being to embrace <br />any compendium of minimal gesture <br />or the dreadful institute of unknown, <br />what constellations stalls in our daily <br />rhythm, never ending planets in slow <br />motion.<br /><br />ramon lvdiaz<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/habitual-flow-on-metro-stations/
