To axes, then.

In addition, we might add:

These days, they pass through a long winter. 

To make matters worse, we are neither a closed nor an open system, but a closed system with little rooms that suddenly open - one way only, it seems - to the outside as to a maw to gorge what we are done eating. 

Inside, but not inside that room as such with that hole, there's coffee that tastes like burning, in small cups with red straws to stir what blurs enough on its own.  So things are fine.

Such that there is always the possibility of exit, of a throwing forth onto the tracks, thereby making us a tidy vaccum (more will exit than will enter and it is only knowing such a passage must have an end that keeps skulls from turning in on themselves, mewing in pain), thereby acting like what we do not see and what is spread diffuse, a slo-mo miasma, what we will not see, how could we not go on?  How could this not roll forever?

But sometimes those little yawning exits gets blocked and frozen solid, and we are reminded that as soon as the point of transfer (the "getting exterior" part of things) toward the vast beyond is backed up a bit, this is a very stinking, very crowded box we have built for ourselves.  Something appears to be seeping out beneath the door of that little room.  Refuse has been shredded into delicate piles, either for distraction or as nests lull the growing number of rodents - fuck, where were they hiding all this time? - into napping and at least leaving those wires be.

And we will go nowhere until it is spring outside or until we admit - or those delegated to admit for us, such that we at best remove a layer and huff a bit  - that it will take those who have already left the train, those with axes and a laugh, those with no manners, that the outside has conditions of its own.  And what we fling out as we fling through space will go nowhere but gather, crystal viscous and thick around our prized yet shat-upon/through "disposal points," it will gather in dumb solidarity with those gathered inside, both sides - the inside stuck matted to the outside, and the inside that continues to be only because it has an outside to yank from and spew into - equally stupid, their drawing breath further wetting the fogged glass.

To axes, then.

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