the state of my mind

The biggest difference is the transparency of blue skies against the metallic enclosure of train material, and the contrast drowns me within the soft rhythm of the jerking of the train. But I see poetry here; in the fluidity of space and scenery I sit still as the world passes me by, and I move involuntarily towards an invisible point that promises to prove ultimate progress while uneasiness slowly sinks in echoing its turn-of-the-twentieth-century counterparts. Through the obscure tunnels that pierce the underground of the bustling streets of New York City, mysterious familiarity lurks, reminiscent of childhood pastimes of H.G. Wells readings. Yet there is another world that penetrates equally deeply along the winding walls in which sparks explode, lit by the oxygen of surrounding darkness [I will write until I find the pages swollen with non-substantial material that reflects the voluminous emptiness within consisting of a million dragonflies of illusions lighting up the barren landscape of an ever-approaching winter. This is not optimism]. But it is not optimism.