Riding,
pushing along, alone
Familiar
with the tracks, the turns, the
Bumps, the
gentle breeze that rocks
The beast
across an unsteady bridge.
Paths never
seem to change, only ever
The
destination. Another left turn,
A small wave
and a smile that sinks oceans
Forgetful,
always forgetful, never cautious enough.
A shudder
from the cars; phone vibrations
Everything
right on schedule, but never the cliff.
There is a
certain pity that is often felt for him.
Mostly by his
own self, to which is used as
The coal for
the warming fire.
Outside, he
feels a chill, and maybe it is winter
But there is
no ice, only soft snow
Drifting in
the air by strings of love.
Behind me,
the horn erupts.
Engines
bellow, and the tracks
I walk
beside quiver, convulse with excitement
Or anxiety.
They carry a burden not for me.
The train
passes, speeding ahead. It is not for me.
Only for a
moment, brief as spark’s life
Do I feel
the heat of the fire,
And assume
the engine’s passion, its commitment
And I see
the slick, black pain(t) on the outside, inviting me.
And then I
see the wheels, and I know they’ll never stop pushing.
An
impressive engineering marvel, years of construction
A design
with no instruction, but plenty of recorded failures.
It will stop
soon, and I will hear the crash from a safe distance
From my spot
in the snow, huddled in an igloo
Carving angels with my boots.
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