Anderson Anderson Architecture

Trains In City

Events in the City

The train approaches.

A wall of pressurized air surges ahead ;
the building ripples, bristling.

The preceding ghost of the train runs through our hair;
a dry lick on the skin, the building swells,
whoosh!

The building breathes.
Wind in the bamboo. An inaudible roar in my ear.

An image bleeds forward ahead of the train:
A small stain of color, licking, absorbing, saturating.

Flash!

Sparking electric flame.
Rippling backwash pooling as pictures cast into space.
The building breathes a radiant cloud.
Engulfed in the heat of exchanging bodies, the cloud becomes a swarming hive.
Clean flashes of silver on hinged panes of glass.
Structure dissolves in the images flowing: inward, outward, multiplied, mixed and reflected.
Pulse! Into the City.

Hot red humanity swimming in rivers of blue fluid air, green in its backwaters, eddies and pools.
On the platform an orange is punctured.

I lift my arm, kiss blue, wisping, cold air with my lips:
clouds roll out swelling gently through glass.

A spray of orange liquid air.

People, larger than themselves, ballooning,
merge as one great sea of color.
Bleeding with the chroma of life, rippling.

The smell remains. An invisible pungent cloud.

Spark!

The train pulls: slow building surge.
Air sucking eyeballs. Wind in the bamboo.
Lungs are drained.

The glass is clean.
Silver flashing pom poms. Rain. Dripping suds.
Dripping, dripping.
Sunlight, starlight, electrified mist.

Pooling image.
The station dissolves, surrounding us,
washing across the streets.
A tentacular, oozing pulse:
Onto the walls and into the windows,
reflecting in eyeglasses, windshields, wet shiny pavement.

The heat of humanity, liquid cloud of the train,
spilling calmly through the city.
Riders just left, riders remaining, riders arriving.
Enmeshed in the clouds of each other.

Fullness.
Emptiness.

Pulse.
Pulse, pulse.
A slow roiling cloud. Ebbing, flowing through the city.

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