Red-eyed and tied to a railway sleeper
someone have mercy on her,
Stop the train.
I watch these silent movies which lack the
pain of sound but ease the brain and
she always escapes from the train,
the hero,
inevitably a man canters in and frees her from
certain death.
Breath fogs the lens with the cold mist of time,
I forgot the lady chained to the line and tried to
make Miss Pickford mine,
she refused me I think, now I drink in
these movies which move me to tears
where did all those years go.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 5:01 AM UTC
Red-eyed and tied to a railway sleeper
someone have mercy on her,
Stop the train.
I watch these silent movies which lack the
pain of sound but ease the brain and
she always escapes from the train,
the hero,
inevitably a man canters in and frees her from
certain death.
Breath fogs the lens with the cold mist of time,
I forgot the lady chained to the line and tried to
make Miss Pickford mine,
she refused me I think, now I drink in
these movies which move me to tears
where did all those years go.
Request permission to use this poem