Crowd. Poem by Miki Byrne
Crowd.
Crowd.
People self-choreographed
Manoeuvre by.
Dodging and smoothly passing
With barely a miss-hap.
Some instinctive radar
Designates our individual space.
Bi-pedal progress of the human race.
Crowd, hugging-close
But never touching
Eye contact rare
And postures as smooth as fish.
In crowds a million people
All progressing
In kaleidoscopic unconsciousness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 3:12:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
