Crossing the River Styx

With headphones, to escape in wordless song From the clammy claustrophobic, squeezed mass A grinding stop and sliding doors open The rush of cool air, and the exodus The sound of diesel engines and bus brakes The smell of exhaust and stale urine floats Large flocks, divided by streetlights, spread forth Peeling into vast canyons, left and right The endless broken conversations hum With invisible listeners afar Eyes straight ahead and never in focus Unseeing and anonymously vague A taxi’s horn, the door sliding open A destination given and silence Kaleidoscopes of imagery pass by Before halting at the entrance to Hell