People move like water
in a river. At the rail
station
crowds ebb and flow.
The tides, they come and go.
Like large rocks standing
against
the relentless current are
benches.
Upon which cling various
wretches
like moss or algae to the
rocks.
There, on the benches, sit
people like frogs on those
rocks.
They croak to themselves and
to others over the rushing
of the river around them.
At the thin edge of the
bench
is a gathering, milling,
swirling
eddy of people that look as
if
they are trapped there as
the river rushes past. They
eventually find their
impetus
and onward, down river they
rush.
The mass of different heads
and hats bobbing like leaves
move with a rushing into
their doors and drains as
they
head aboard their trains.
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