Slipping.

Lithgow, Michael Andrew

slipping

   I saw today the cars of a subway move, and behind
   their accelerating bulk a creamy friction in the air
   like an almost transparent custard. What was it? Some
   toxic flume from the mechanical contrivances of transport?
   No. There is no visible exhaust from these underground
   carriages. It was the cognitive stuffing of the people
   on the train. Don't laugh! These trains accelerate
   and the contents of our brains slip quietly out. It explains

   the dull torpor we feel down there. A lingering cloud of
      agitations,
   fears, sexual longing, vanities, hopes, distractions. I think
   I even saw tiny bugs feeding on the gauzy drift. Small speckled
   beetles with black and white wings that hummed
   ever so softly something modern while eating forgotten thoughts.
   Actually, I was wrong. They were humming something very very old.