Train, morning, hangover, blue.

Look humanity in its
cold, dead eyes
and you will
see
the truth:

offer it paradise,
and it will continue
to trudge to work
carrying its briefcases,
and laptops, and satchels;
it needs this.

It is a creature of habit -
the human -
and it desires
the machine;
it doesn't question
that there is one
or whether it needs them;
they just suckle iron milk.

Even the more beautiful
of them
would rather sip
crowded coffee
than be faced with
endless periods of creativity.

But this mass flow of flesh
is comprised entirely
of individuals
who've made their choice;
have chosen not to choose
but just accept.

I always wanted to be
an astronomer
as a child,
and I wanted to live
for a long time -
perhaps not forever.

Trains make up the veins,
and rails make up the flues,
and we are pushed
in our comfortable shoes,
comfortable blues,
into our alabaster cells,
in which
we try to claw at the sky.