I am sitting at the station,
waiting for a southbound train,
to take me somewhere
buried in a childhood long lost.
even still, it never left its first stop.
Ill just sit here for years; decades.
slow movement pressed for inaction
a simple protest against these stone faced clocks
that so often steer my life.
i wont mind if when it
finally does come,
it falls right off the track,
and i drown in the wreckage.
I think id welcome the rest.
Sinew and tangled metal
line the roads.
the tracks bathed in life and birth.
i raise this bottle of vernacular
and drink to my heads content,
count the tracks made by her.
ill forget in the morning
why i drank so much tonight,
but somewhere for the ride
it made perfect sense.
a slow winding jazz song
like an Amtrak train,
quarrels with the earth,
pummeling across its face.
drunken and wild, in love with chaos
in fear of nothing rational.
i want to disappear on the next train out of here.
on the southbound train back home to Lebanon town.
