In Transit

Catching Amtrak seven am for Southern rails. Tenth hour ride into townships of rich, as poor men alike. Holding pages to similes throughout my duration. "Quiet car?"...I doubt it. And if asked about "My" eventual destination I dare accept this ride could as should turn toward more than the slither of a silver snake. More than that whaling thirst through iron eastern political countryside, more than quick eyes and dogging lapses, more than our eventual ascendance from continued status paradigms.

 

I take the nod, sun opiated and through that doorway the conscious horse whipped.  An instant to catch life barreling along the same train, same parallel. The same thought through abstract and therefore visions of will appear; slow blooms and puffs. Only fear here is roosting, vast mental buttes, the colors lacking, death in the stray glass which of course I am willing to ignore. Who wouldn’t ignore the hideous or shy, the passing portraits; avoid the most common of their flashes. Eyes meet their destinations halfway. They borrow to share in same a meal. Light dares the like with shadows and tabletop patterns.

 

I travel in transit howling past a passing howl. I glaze like a tired candidate facing mirrors, yellow blades as shoals through wind gills, seas and euphoria, a vast tan lined enigma, a moist and willing brunette. Now in some place where even rage catches my breath, takes in a slight ray and opens. The only clear line or hitch through what I navigate past sirens of sense .

 Catching Amtrak seven am. If in time I see you silent and aboard, sitting on same line, if in time I see you undetermined, exhausted and waiting, my soul will bend with cap in hand indebted to the whistling ghost and inevitable end, whichever two shall meet.