another
train conductor says
riding
the rails
in
push carts
war-tracing
stems
of dreams
will
vine the night
will
ring out your dead
and
take out your knives
we’re
electing
presidents
over here
as
a hobo-esque drunk
it
may even be my shadow
is
ranting
alone
at the corner
I
keep my head down
in
the drink
as
I try and outrace
the
uglies of my mind
he’s
at the bar
nearest
the door
he
mumbles
grizzled
spitted remarks
to
the Canadian broadcaster
on
the television
I‘ll
lace the pearls
of
my pee
against
the alley wall
with
more permanence
than
thee
as
I shout more songs
of
my broken doll faces
that
can still see every you
living despite
being
in
the dark with crickets
at
a high frequency wash cycle
Autumn
is closing in on the light
and
beasts are lurking everywhere
thirsting
for your skin
he says, to
seed cover
and
burial wrap the bleed
of
your quiet begging
beneath
the whir
of
tires past midnight
crawling
towards
another
journey
to
the Dawn
EJR
©
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hello there ...