Kristine Ong Muslim — The Monarch Review
Rapid Transit – Kristine Ong Muslim
Monday, December 14, 2015 11:19 — 1 Comment
For you, it is always rush hour, always the same hydraulic hiss of electric train doors tight-lipped about their vacuum, their hull swollen with immediacy, their carriage smothered by your restlessness, always the same familiar melodic ding of train doors clamping shut their seamless traction, their gaskets and threaded metal joints— the slow wear and tear prodding you along, for all time oblivious to your aimless lurching forward to whatever city you have fled from this time. Chafed by friction, the rails hold up, hold down your roaring part of the world.
What am I?
Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies
Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;
Scientists can't find me.
Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—
Remind me:
The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…
Tick, Tock: Divine me.
-- Richard Kenney
