Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Train

I
Together, we
Ride the purple train
To the city along
With everyone else,
Who look through
Towers of glass, paper 
And ideas 



For the elusive

Phosphorescence of unfinished
Stories, unmade 
Beds on cold
Mornings, unremembered 

Dreams that escape 
Through cleaved
Sentences, tainted
glances,
The lids of unopened
Windows,

And scribbled 
vines 
On torn paper


II
At times the crowds
Wash through
The space between us
And I am pushed 
To a pole

And you 
To a window

Swept away into
Corners, we resist
Movement.

But sometimes,
Gravity pulls 
The crowd away
(the heaving of a chest,
the retreat of the ocean)
and we are given 
reprieve and room
to breathe and move. And 

be still. Also,
to be still

III
The world outside
Moves quicker
Than this train,
Quicker than a thief 
In the night,
Quicker than my
Tongue caught
In my throat

(along with my name
and the relentless
crashing of your waters
on the rocks of my heart.)

So that in here
Everything moves
Like falling leaves – 
without consent
without direction,
without concern.

IV
And I am lost
As you are lost 
In the old woman
Beside you,
In the screaming child
With scabbed feet

And knees,
In the blur of things
Outside the train
And inside 
Of you.

And the doors open
Quickly as my mind 
Closes.

And you walk past me
And the day ends.

Tomorrow then.

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