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Feb 2015
The train never stops,
It circles its circuits
There's no on on board,
And theres no one to work it

The lonesomely captain,
Is glued to the windows.
A million fly past him
Through shadows of ozone

Each station he passes,
He fondles the brake.
His eyeballs turn plastic
"I know that mistake"

See, what if they steal
Yet another train-car?
There's pain in his heart,
And he won't think that far.

So he smudges away,
And adds to the pile,
Another small tear,
Made of grease, blood, and smiles

So onto the next,
Every station in line,
Taunts him, but he's
Firmly made up his mind.
Ben Balserak
Written by
Ben Balserak  New York City
(New York City)   
571
   Joseph Schneider
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