I've had my vitamins today and felt like taking the first steps towards a longer poem. This is just a draft though.

-Every time I take the tram home I have the same unworldy feeling of movement verses the dark. I don't belong in the tram, but everyone else doesn't either. We are travellers on this small but solid mode of transport that is so predictable in it's tracks. I there every night, same time, roughly same seat and everything else does what it does every night. We are a defeated bunch, on our way home, itching for our stops. And I'm always last to get off.


Homebound

I am two in the window world
Outside dark is eminent but
the night creaks, then budges for Number 6

the carriage's street-lighted tracks
lie heavy as metal in frontwindow future
as soon as behind us lost grip on the night

And filthy beats from the last seat on the left
succumbing to the autumn draft
into my doubled eardrums again.

I am still here, two for the terminus
Where the driver is halfway in bed.