I want to do a lot right now and in my head I'm doing them.

I'm smashing every single window I see.

I'm bashing my head repeatedly on the pavement, until my brain is rewired correctly.

I'm throwing the new expensive mug I just bought on the floor.

I'm picking up the shards from said mug and smashed windows and ripping my wrists wide open.

I'm laying on the train tracks, my innards splayed out, a spectacle for everyone to admire.

Who draws strength
from watching the passage of time
after dark
blur against the windows
of a moving train bound
for ends uncertain.

Who walks most balanced
on the beams of empty tracks.

In the shuffle of strangers
at a crosswalk, who finds
direction.

Who sees
clearer through rain.

Who finds their place
in the limbo of airport terminals,
on delayed flights
between chapters,
over open roads that branch
into tales of cities unseen,
in the turn of pages unwritten.

Who can keep track of time
during the improvised chaos of jazz,
catching notes scattered
in the winds of horns.

Who understands
that wind moves
fastest through dark places like tunnels,
during storms in late August.

Who finds their center
hurled in flight,
always coming and going.

strict locomotives
strict trains
go ride somewhere
but where but where
where are they going
again and again they
strong and powerful
lights they are lights they are lights

and green and red
and yellow and orange
and blue and black and white
and pink and brown
and lime and marsh
and all sorts of things
where they go again
lights they are lights they are lights

04.09.18

A woman sits on the train.
Watching, waiting for something to happen.
She rushes pass building after building lost in the sights.
The world flying by her window seat.
One track at a time.
Fixed between one common place to another.
She turns her head.
A man reads the paper.
Headline covered by the fold.
Presidential debate.
His hold is tight, side eyeing the woman beside him.
Her round face.
Randomly clicking on her phone.
Bored.
Social media sites.
Candy crush.
He views in full.
The air is cool.
Cool enough to put you to sleep.
She wonders if anyone notices her.
She yawns,
lips printed on the reflection of buildings.
She quickly looks away.
The train passes.
Overhead she sees a plane.
Never has she flown.
To see the sights above.
Would the experience be the same.
Travel size smile.
Hand bag at rest.
The train rushing faster and faster.
The buildings now out of sight.
The plane races on.
She turns her head.
Now she's asleep

i think trains roll
like tires, at night.

their rubber arms can
hold—

can let go.

We give guns to our sons,
to protect our land
to protect our souls
to protect our goals

We have guns in the truck
guns in the car
in the prison bus
guns just for fun.

guns at the airport
guns on the plane
guns in the air,
guns in every state

guns at the armory
guns at the bank
guns for the money
guns in the safe

guns on The Hill
guns on patrol
guns on the street
"guns that ****"

guns on the gangs
guns in the trains
guns at the range
guns on the stage

guns on T.V
guns at big screens
guns at the table,
guns on the scene

guns on the plains,
guns in the mount,
guns in the desert,
guns we can't count

guns in the south,
guns from the west,
from coast to coast
guns everywhere!

guns on hand
guns on the boats

Guns across           ---          the whole wide world.

Guns in Mosul,
Guns in Iraq
Guns in Japan
Guns in Slovak

Guns in Chicago
Guns in Bhutan
Guns in Australia, Malay, and
Taiwan

Guns in Korea,
Guns in the ocean
Guns on the shores, guns never broken
--or sold or banned or destroyed or stolen

No token
prayer,
no
sign of devotion
no tears
or weeping
or candles
have spoken

for the thousands dead, the thousands snuffed dead

Guns in the policecar,
Guns in the open

Guns on the street,
But no, we can't own them

Our children are dead, dying and born
Into a world of guns, and guns that won't go

we protect our world, our money, our loves
with guns

So why don't we do so?
With the children?
Our sons?

Today is a day of travel
Late for the first train
Early morning marvels
We're lucky there isn't rain

With you I needn't strain
My love and I
Oh my sweet Samuel
I can't wait to see how far we can go

Our first big trip
Together we'll see
Milwaukee to Chicago

Where the wind hymns
Through the concrete redwoods
Sheds infectious excitement
The buzz of an infrastructure hive
To pulse through every scurrying limb

With beating darting glossy eyes
Where necks crane concave
To gaze upon the monuments
The statues
The striking glory of an architectural revolution

This train, ridden in adult hood
Is still reminiscent of my youngest days
Where curly golden locks
Oshkosh b'gosh overalls
And fists the size of a common house mouse

Dutifully and loyaly gripped
The softly sanded wooden train whistle
Galloping around my grandparents
Gently cooing to the moon and sun
Until my little lungs couldn't blow any more

This trains horn is more authoritative
It asks us to hurry or watch out
But inside the car it's only a lullaby
a benevolent force
All red, blue and silver
Glistening upon arrival and exit

These metal cans have long windows
Stretching from seat to sea to forest through the trees
Children's faces adhear to it
wide eyed and chin dropped  
As we pass swiftly and smoothly

The lush verdure and crushing azure
Of the Midwest's rolling glacial fields
All transient and ghostly passing through

Farther though as close as could be
An unseen body and lonesome forearm
Reveals itself from behind the curtain seat

One finger hold a golden wedding ring
This halo he wears or it wears him ever so perfectly
Only slightly indented upon his golden hued skin
His wrist watch is of the like
Shows 11:45 upside down to mine eyes

I took that train again
The one that doesn’t stop
This time it took me to a land of blondes
A veritable tree.
With many things that a gentleman
Should not write about.
I’d like to think that’s me
Though I’ve proven myself wrong in the past
It’s quite the opposite.
None the less. The train was boarded
And the riders were comfortable,
Smiling and laughing right into the collision.

To the unlikely Amtrak ride
the one with people
acting like cartoons.

With an announcer
over the intercom
smushing words together--
saying we'll arrive in Lodi
and then in blah blah location.

To the conductor
whom
speaks to us as children,
because to him
we look like long time
traveling companions.

He plays with our
destinations
and notices that we're going
to two different locations.

We've only known
each other existed from
the 30 minutes we rode
side by side on the bus before the train.  

No matter the time.
We've become limited-less
as it was too easy to speak
and impossible to stop.  

All the truths
we've shared will never be gone
the moment just as we felt in it
can never truly come to an end.
As long as the train keeps moving
our moment will forever trek on.

Even after I have left the ride
and you've finally fallen aleep
without my company to stir you awake.

It may never happen again
just like the dreams you're having
right this moment.
But least we came to speak
for the shortest
of train rides.