Today heard I a train,
while I smoke my cigarette, I heard a train.

The rumbles came trundling over mossing steel street bars,
the hooves of an iron horse shattering glass floors-
pebbles bickering  like stone woodpeckers on the grounds to come.
The wind shudders,
and apologizes for the frost on the leaves,
the cracks in the ground and the holes in the sky,
my cigarette part blur,
awkwardness so comfortable,
this plastic train i recreate,
moments in-between,
where we lay down to day-listen.

The kinsmen that forgot call blacksmith,
scared with his welded skin,
protection in battle,
drunken dichotomy,
a hero ***** dans l’amour.

As great the fall of king, the fall of next in line.
The only thing to have moved quicker with age, time.
Lest we forget, the blacksmith here reside;(unfinished)
While the angel hath walk,
with long grey and black web moth wings,
stalking its sleeping prey,
his eyes wide open back,
watching the angel pace,
infesting the air with despicable knots,
its dangerous to stare,
but a contest never started is a contest never won,
and into the eyes of hell the blacksmith hast stared-
to the foot of his bed.

Where a three headed dog flap its ice wings to keep hell cold.
These nights in particular had been an awful one, and again the tapping, again the train.

Mulched frequencies spearing through me, glistening in the pitching, squealing through my hearing, causing my eyes to see glitches, zilching from scrambled beams, materializing in infants dreams, rearranging the seam lines of the confines planted by parents vacant-ed, by undermining slave ships, of merchants, rubbing their grubby hands together.

Everythings better burned, in smoke steeps spiraling as far as the eye can see, swallowing fluffy smotherings of blue skies disguised as storm clouds, shrouding the loud, and obnoxious crowds of clowns squeezing noses while folding balloon roses, before exposing notions of permanence and relevance to pin you to their settlement of fools.

Happy, sad or just cool, i want simply nothing, but a blank face in my place of power, where the spent can cower in nothingness, blissfully lifting us above the smog, in godless pause before the blast of evolution, passed in through the degradation of chromosomes through polluted wombs to mossing tombs on bleeding wounds that never healed.

Sealed in a shield of yieldless peeling of my world for a gift so great, the stake is felt across the world in a ripple of love that whirls into the winds of life, and twirls into the sky, igniting a sight so great that everyone dies, as we rise again for the first time, in blue sunlight so bright that we absorb the light, and emanate it in the night, shining in fightless insight, of a universe that flys through a forest of unknowns.