I watch them on the train,
the one without stations,
facing forward in seats
next to glass-plated windows
Older passengers, wherever they
are going, shoot warm wrinkled eyes at me
as they speed by, in accommodations
nicely-classed for pleasure and comfort
Makes me wish that someday soon
I’ll retire my weird pursuits, stop running the rails, jump on board and, for a change,
just enjoy the last part of my journey
up all night writing because I wanted some sparkling revelation to offer this morning but words failed and I have nothing to show but the sloppy stains of scribbles and cross-outs maybe I'll learn som
truth aches when an overread book is continually misunderstood or when a love that needs to shout is left to linger unspoken on lips
to this swirling existence we write about so why not dabble in the dialect and points of view? use solitary clouds and footprints fresh stains and old smells the embraces of snakes turn words upside d