Late is the hinter season
Fast is the yesterdayman
We He I
Not as one
Only two stations ago
His eyes like the eyes of a thing
Two minutes ago drowning
Before he imploded
on the fast moving walls
Implodes into objects that gave
the world its maps and measure
I had not reached out out out
But past him to an unseen island
Calling itself Escape from New York
for fear shined in my garden
The train…
Too late is its speed
So fast it is behind us
Racing the shroud
To find its own eyes
Its own system of suns
that were not anymore there
The two minutes ago
The end of a yesterday
man