Time in Tunnels

The lesson of travel
is to trust the goodness,
the illumination
of instinct
intellect.

But this sudden lawless flurry
in the stifling clap of darkness
I become a Space Mountain refugee.
Dumbed, numbed
maladaptive,
blind.

The blackened speeding hallway spits
out husks of
“trust, trust, trust”
left scattered to bottomless tracks.

Six anxious-eyed strangers
feign calm, but wheeze through
nostrils full of spent fuel.
Which of us would sell the others
to quell the clattering chaos?
A glaring sun exposes us—
all of us traitors—
we avert our eyes
squeezing tears and shame at lid corners.

But as quickly
the shrouded cacophony
again
blankets our dank cage.
I close my eyes to find
my marigold canary.
She whispers a bird promise
feather light
in the opaque
perspiration and
doubt.

The day finally opens
wide
and full
a welcome
Tuscan promise
kept.

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