"awesome like ten million hotdogs, Sir"

So i haven't written any poetry properly for a long time. i would say i was rusty so i had an excuse but i don't want one. Art should be collaborative i think. Art is collaborative even if only one person writes it. i fear and relish your comments but i like the immediacy of this form and the pressure it puts on the poem - if i can call it that, it's more of an imagination dump.

Carriages lined with people

With stories of their own.

The world expands in my head

As they make their way home, to work, to family, to friends

To the ends of the line

And time passes time

In this underground line

Where my eyes open to the awesome size of the world,

"Awesome like ten million hotdogs, Sir."

My score of years

Is nothing here

My own insignificance pales against theirs

Their love affairs, their joking dares, their unawares.

We are follicles of hairs on the head of the city

Alone nothing but together pretty.

Or ugly. Or something

Less much less than i could fathom.

I am insignificant at best.