trains and trains
all of the trains converge
on this singular place
and then stop with nowhere to go.
i think of all of the trains
that i’ve been on.
too many trains.
too many used up
hours.
my mind is a blank
today.
that is to say it is
not here
with you.
it is in london still.
it is dreaming madrid
and the canals of venice.
it is dreaming
a train
going over the frozen land
from beijing to moscow.
a train taken in another life
i have yet to get to
another time
not as thick as this one
moldy and brown
ripe with america.
not as stuck
as the trains
that still haven’t moved
from this mildew-scented tunnel
in this outrageous time
and place
on no conception
no solace
of no thought
to speak.
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