the end of things
gradually and careeningly, i'm hearing
trains where there are none, massive crashes
the steam and the rage and the crackle
a fireplace beside me in my
big, glass house. the ghosts of
mass transportation stalking me in my
sleep. oh, sleep.
i know a girl doesn't remember a thing
stolen, petrified like wood
put away somewhere and never retrieved
in the morning, emptiness
so,
the beginning of things all sudden
sharp and beautiful
like water not from a spout
trains again, coming and going and coming
i swear the don't know my name
they never call out to me like in the movies
"you, sir! last call! all aboard!"
the glare and flicker of the fire
threatens to burn
it's burning already
it isn't fire if it isn't burning
words, words, words. and so on. ad nauseum. three thousand more.
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