"railcar" poems
waiting weightless
waitless
1/18/15
8:43am
' hand rest chest
thumpthump
thump ''
' that heartbeat is a
metronome of waxing and waning
rhythmic tides and it's an '
everchanging time signature
to my overture overture and '
hand off and unsettle and '
thrown into uncontrolled rubato~ ''
' fizzy brain
spinnin dizzy
spinnin circles
spiral spiral ''
' life over my shoulder
strapped to my back and
I'm flowing like a river
down the elevator ''
' opening down
the seam and out ''
I step and roll heel toe
heel toe '
eyes flick side and side
glass door push open and
box and glass door push open and
push open push open and
open... ''
' cold streets are
the downbeat to sleet '' — '
it's frozen roads going backwards
and I'm going backwards with all my lackwords ''
...slushroadslick. '
I'm returning and leaving
like a medicine wheel spinning
and there's a dead grackle soaking
next to the curb slippery
with toxic runoff... '
...crystal water
melting '
my shoes slide from left
to left and I've up and left and
I'm climbing down the
right side of a staircase
and it's a case and it's a way
that stairway
and that last step
is 9:13am last step flat
and platform dead and
sleepy benches waiting for
the listless waiting
for the waitless ''
' waiting , waiting ''
I hop on and hide... '
the silence is sacred ''
the eyes are averted
and it's one of the
thousand different silences '
it's one of the rumbling ones
but then it's broken and
it's broken by an angry one '
and we're all alone in a railcar
with seven others, we're all alone
and she breaks it, ' she breaks it by
spilling angry nothings into the phone
that she pushes tightly to her skull '
and she grips it and she breaks it and '
and she breaks it and '
I hop off and run...
and once again I'm a
thousand different faces waiting '
but right now we're two
watching watching the
hopping sparrow ' and
it is so alive with it's
warm fluffy feathers
soaked with life ''
'
and everyone is shuffle shuffle pacing ''
' but every body stands still with eyes saccading...
sweep sweep, '
stay where you are,
in your lateness ''
and your action
is in your inaction
weightless... '
waiting to
hop on
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
It’s all ******* bits and pieces this existence of ours while we ride this ever spinning crazy world we inhabit, that’s just the thing, even if we are complete ******** it just keeps on rolling through the cosmic plane, the penny you left on the train tracks derails the railcar full of medical supplies for sick dyeing orphans, you wipe your genitalia on the boss’s keyboard knowing that in time his face will smell like ***** unloading your loneliness with displacement on the little blue hair taking too long to count change at the grocery check out.
It doesn’t matter, none of it ever matters, the world’s not going to stop, not even going to slow and pause for breath, and nobody cares about your problems. But sometimes you find someone, someone so incredible special, someone who seems to understand, someone who really gets you, and for a little while its better, we can lie there in the dark and promise never to leave each other, we have someone to hold onto, someone who proves we exist, at least for a little while anyway.
It’s how you interconnect these bits and pieces, these singular moments into the mosaic of your reality.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
Darkness now covers
Where lightness has been
This train has derailed
I’m stuck once again
With worry and fear
No wisdom within
A prisoner in this railcar
The walls closing in
With judgement of self
Leading the way
Punitive pain
Leads her astray
The damage extensive
She may not be saved
Demons encompass
Her mind Enslaved
A window of hope
If only she could see
Love is waiting
To set her free
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
This is a portrait of backs turned.
It's inspired by windows
on a railcar
passing an anywhere town
where turned backs
the shape of faraway kites
move farthest on windy days.
This is the wall
where a portrait of backs turned
could have been framed,
captioned
by the silhouettes of parting words
left in eraser dust.
These are the overcoats left
hanging
on the backs of empty bar chairs.
We sat on the precipice of a deep
conversation.
Your face was a blur.
Mar 7, 2020
Mar 7, 2020 at 10:40 AM UTC