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On The Pendel

The pendel stopped again. Second time now. Waiting on a train I guess.

An electrical fault between Södra Station and Årstaberg (where I work) is at fault, so we're locked in our vault, with walls made of quartz, in the hall of the war. And then we go again! Through tunnels dark as if scorched by the bark of a force far greater than our creator... I'm sure.

I make it two stations, and take the subway another two to visit a shop looking for cheap Coconut water. They're sold out.

I get back to the station. Delays prevail. I wait to know avail, by gates where folks look cold and frail although here blows no throes of gale. When trains roll on the rail I'll know the role I play. Get on that metal boat with nose-coat paint and flow away, and so the day... like an endless loaf of prose in droves of gray. Like you know my name. Toast! Here we go again.

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