iridescent blue and orange
under the crude oily grime of city streetlights
sitting waiting in their hard shells
but one wrong move
and their liquid insides spill onto the concrete
I think they realize that
because they aren't moving
but I can feel movement
a quiet storm of energy
beneath a plexiglass exterior
restless lymph
swirling cytoplasm
a great big secret
a kinesthetic mystery masked
under solid simplicity
I wonder if they know
how beautiful they are
as the train rolls on into the night.
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