RAILROAD POETRY

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Buckled Over, Hunched

July 06, 2011

The idea of what we do
Thorough
--
7.6.11

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Vibrant Conflagration

In a pink ribbon Similar to rendered fat Against playful sterno blue There are tubes waiting Delivering cleverly cinched sacs To temporary destinations Collected and redistributed A fine spread At the courtesy of our dear queen Burning like an orange tunnel To dawn's hotel

Always Burning

When people say We lost everything in the fire I want that for us Not the loss of life; Nor the sacred memories now saved in charred skies for anyone with access — But the molten plastic, the remains of poly knits, the scorched knick knacks From beyond the grave of a 1930's soldier's dwellings From beyond the last resting place of syphilitic complications From beyond the grave of coal stored one winter at a time I want for us what I want for them A cleaner starting Let's start cleaning

The Moon, 1845

When looking up Believing is seeing Feeling pulled Toward others' breathing Imagining us with wings Encircling the surface Bringing it all in for a hug Or higher purpose -- 8.26.10

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