Night Traffic On The Brooklyn Bridge

This system of mysterious,

Interconnected madness, 

As consciousness becomes optional--

Requisite with a temper,

Fighting unfathomable expectations

That fight to keep us in line,

Peaking over shoulders to get

A better view of the middle,

Where, in darkness,

Hands folded and head fallen,

Before a mindless slumber takes hold,

Before our memories fade,

If they were ever even really made,

The course corrects;

The system breaks;

And we find our way home

To the only thing that matters.