Train Talk

The trains take turns howling
Their voices strained and void
of empathy
Destitute wanderers and those mourning the old world
Flood the darkness near rivers and abandoned warehouses
Their hunger akin to the piranhas paranoia
A frenzied feeding at midnight
Each of the railroad cars screeched and murmured
the stench of progress hot on their breath  
wheels winding whispers into lost minutes
digging claws down
deep
into earth
and clay
 
the moon stumbles drunkenly
and predictably into view
 
I can see
 
Nothing but,
 
Everything
 
I am older
and filled with less now
 
but feel the weight of existence more
 
 
 
I regret not jumping onto the last railroad car
when I was younger
when my arms weren’t rooted so firmly in this place
this place, this home that I fear will become my sarcophagus  
 
the train coughing wildly off in the distance, now
and as it staggered out of view  
I knew
 
I knew I would never be the manifestation  
of my desires
 
but rather,
the reflection
of the worlds
failures
 
and festering
 
wounds