Men with picked voices chant the names <br />of cities in a huge gallery: promises <br />that pull through descending stairways <br />to a deep rumbling. <br /> <br />The rubbing feet <br />of those coming to be carried quicken a <br />grey pavement into soft light that rocks <br />to and fro, under the domed ceiling, <br />across and across from pale <br />earthcolored walls of bare limestone. <br /> <br />Covertly the hands of a great clock <br />go round and round! Were they to <br />move quickly and at once the whole <br />secret would be out and the shuffling <br />of all ants be done forever. <br /> <br />A leaning pyramid of sunlight, narrowing <br />out at a high window, moves by the clock: <br />disaccordant hands straining out from <br />a center: inevitable postures infinitely <br />repeated-- <br />two--twofour--twoeight! <br />Porters in red hats run on narrow platforms. <br />This way ma'am! <br />--important not to take <br />the wrong train! <br />Lights from the concrete <br />ceiling hang crooked but-- <br />Poised horizontal <br />on glittering parallels the dingy cylinders <br />packed with a warm glow--inviting entry-- <br />pull against the hour. But brakes can <br />hold a fixed posture till-- <br />The whistle! <br /> <br />Not twoeight. Not twofour. Two! <br /> <br />Gliding windows. Colored cooks sweating <br />in a small kitchen. Taillights-- <br /> <br />In time: twofour! <br />In time: twoeight! <br /> <br />--rivers are tunneled: trestles <br />cross oozy swampland: wheels repeating <br />the same gesture remain relatively <br />stationary: rails forever parallel <br />return on themselves infinitely. <br />The dance is sure.<br /><br />William Carlos Williams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/overture-to-a-dance-of-locomotives/
