with a million rounds,
the train, like a tongue,
rolls out of the mouth

like people,
and onto the ground it crashed.
a massive hug to the
***** concrete heart

and the last carriage
made a pact with the air as it
landed halfway, mid-air,

with strings attached to its
wheels,
halfway-unhinged,
an origami left

with its ancient creases,
and it is desperate to
wage war upon

noises and things and
pans and iron axes,
and bang, and screech, and

****
****
****.

beckoning you into the wheel,
with strings clawed into the
skin, like silver

linings meant for you
but we twist it around our finger
all to hard,

it hugged around too tight
and we are shredded paper,
too many wrinkles and creases

and tear-stains
on your
whatever paper.

we then, twist, oh we twist,
twist others into a slow,
uncertain dance ritual.

and i dont know what to say,
to think to say,
to tie my words to those strings

and throw it out into
the open air, dangling like a
wheel, another
form of a

roulette wheel,
and then what?
let it dance?
see if it falls and hugs

and then breaks,
or then, it breaks

them.