Through past/present/future, the Oriental Express still clatters,
bending time, space and everything else that really matters.

The eclectic, co-mingled aroma
of Turkish coffee, French onion soup
and spicy Kung Pao almonds,
wafts through the observation deck,
stinging the ornamental eyes
delicately carved into the interior bas-relief.

Initially squinting,
blinking wide open,
pupils melt like hot candle wax,
dripping onto the toes tip-tapping
alongside the steady music beating
off of the iron bones spinning 'round below.

Barely, just barely,
they hear the yardman's migratory yearnings,
as he switches the tracks of thought -
so mesmerized they are
by the moistened, black boughs
speeding by the open, lead windows.
Pale faces dangling from the laden branches,
strange, intoxicating fruit

-hanging-

so comfortably close to fingertips,
their spiral prints bending time, space
and everything else in-between that really matters