Postindustrial Confusion

Postindustrial confusion
the running of train tracks
on noisy mornings
human cogwheels of an abstract machine
talking to grey floors with cheap boots

While the diffuse rumbling of listless wagons
hails a new load of morning
every five minutes
we wait
confused but not knowing

Electric melancholy
tristesse of sourceless rain and desaturated autumn
but the void between torn out pipes
and abandoned preliminary tunnels never touched by trains
are no space waiting to hear our tales.