Friday, May 15, 2020

Trains



We recorded trains speeding past:
successions of windows,
film strips flashing across our eyes,
flapping away into the night.

You described trains passing apartment windows
in an Italian city: photographs of strangers:
a cup halfway to a mouth,
a head bent to a drawer.

A photographic exhibition:
snapshots of the disconnected
lives of modern cities;
ephemeral existences, dispensable people.

In your apartment we watched our footage,
it delighted us: trains are film strips;
they roll and roll and roll
and each frame is a kind of death.

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