Cold Concrete

There was blood on the tracks this morning
before I reached the first full
stop.

When I passed by that way
later in the day,
the car catapulted
just the same,
just … the same.

Though it makes a living underground,
where dust is merely dust,
I could not smell the death
apart from earthly
must.

Reason & rhyme could not compete
against the cold (and)
concrete.

So let us pause … to imagine
   the shattered bone
   the soul, incomplete
   and the weight of severed limbs
what now separates us
  
   from them.