Underground.

Through darkened tubes in the belly of the Earth
we ride.
Eyes glaring like the bloodshot peepers of an imsomniac light the darkness ahead.
A wind ruffles the papers as it passes through the station.
People are packed like sardines in the little box-cars.
People sit at the platforms like perched golems;
The standing ones try to keep themselves distracted.
I sit on the train looking at my shoes;
That or the black nothingness behind the windows.
I step out into stuffy, sweaty summer air
And ascend from the bowels of the Earth
Like bad wind through a drunk's oesophagus.
I'm back in daylight.