Poetry In Motion

So, I was sitting on the train and this is what I saw:

The tumult in the heat

Keeps asking questions.

And then it stops and undertakes to answer

In the same tone of voice.

No one could tell the difference.

Uninnocent these conversations start,

And then engage the senses,

Only half-meaning to.

And then there is no choice,

And then there is no sense; until a name

And all connotation

Are the same