Down The Drugway (Poetry)

Night
and small cannisters of thought
slide along thin branchlines
half-lit they rumble
empty for the most part
journeying without a valid ticket
slumped
or hanging in a strap
counting off the stations.

Doors hiss open
little puffs of unfresh air
over-breathed and faintly perfumed
with strange bodies
waft and generate
a jungle of ideas
panthers stalk the platforms
squat on rusted rails
disrupt the timetable
so carefully ignored.

The tunnels run near-blind
the roof-falls frequent
tiredness slows the carriage
to a crawl.
The route is scrambled
and the destination
hangs a sign on every
pulsing wall.
The map spreads wide
its fantasy of veins.         All power d r a i n s ...