Another Poem about how Work Sucks Away your Soul

The purple line pulls into Merchandise Mart station. The door opens and 
we struggle out onto the platform like diminutive little mammals, 
or more like a flood of uncountable red & white corpuscles, unstoppable, mindless. 


Each of us , so small a part we play, how unimportant each one of us alone. 
Something tiny controls this repeating scene but it runs through each of us, a connecting spark, the will to survive. 


Tiny flakes of snow spit randomly as I cross the frozen but oily looking Chicago River. 
I stand at Wells and Wacker and surrender.