Quiet Nights
*
This I am, sitting by the
Moving train.
Here I am, next to aged
Metal tracks, listening to
The cuckoo of the flying
Train, the train that leaves
Behind grey smoke trails like
The rabbit leaves behind its trails
In the woodened forests.

It is suddenly a grey dark morning day
In midwinter, but now it is
A warm dark night leveeing the
Tracks with vibrating gravel
As the train flies in front of the
Eyes and I listen quietly to the choo-choo’s,
Tucked inside my bed sheets
Half a kilometer away.

Big round opened eyes gleam
Brightly in that absolute darkness,
Until the train lights **** it in.
And suddenly they are dark, and
The room is lighted through the
Large window and its transparent
Plastic curtain.
There I am, half a kilometer
Away, sitting by the immobile gravel
Looking at the rear metals
Of a moving train that leaves
Behind large puffs of intoxicating
Smoke that disintegrates into
Large clouds of fog fallen onto the
Mobile homes.

the mouth of life gaping
for a warm wave of whisps
underlying sun captured
making an accomplice
vines weaving upon her shoulder
pink flowers intertwined with her crimsoned hair
pouring kerosine on the woodened Fire
for that's the warmth she yearned
meadowlarks having vivid conversations
wishing she could fly to the clouds
smelling pines rolling the breeze
watery drop scatters the freckles
fore the day is sad; grimacing
the girl with the crimsoned hair
returns back, for a cup of tea gladly relinquished.

Her lips are so ashened that I feel the urge to lick them without seduction,
yet I kiss them and don't complain.
Her soul so dry that the rains fear her continues grounds of dramatic dryness.
Yet I continue to water her petals.
Her body so undesired that she barely looks at it. She carries each pound, from her unsatisfied lips and her ample breast to her thickened hips and woodened- brown toes, with a shrug of unacceptance.
Yet I still explore her with the interest of the lustful.
I kissed the lips of this wretched devil and grabbed Her by the backside as the knife in her tongue pierced my neck...
But I let it happen. So maybe I truly am to blame.
After all, to save a snake is a deed or valor indeed, but at the end of the day, the snake is the same animal it had always been.