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
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