When she said this place had become a dump
I held her close and in a whisper asked
if she thought that all the world
was just something to bitch about.
She is the rails and wheels on them.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
she asked, and I realized the person that I
once loved was still there and quite well,
unchanged by time (an oxymoron)
for better or worse.
She is the woman in the red dress
a few seats up. She is the engine with
a screaming whistle. She is the coal
waiting to be burned. She is everything but me.
But are all of these substances
one big misunderstood absence? She asked
for help cleaning up and said, "vacuum."
I'm sure I misunderstood that.
Is there a vacuum inside the machine?
A little black hole
where all my dust goes?
My relations with mechanics are faith-based. Science
is a holyman's game.
I don't know how this rail-machine works
for there are never any stops.
I cannot get off
for I am not even a passenger on it
but am all the passengers
and the train too.
On and on and on and on
AND on & on AND on & on
anon anon, anon anon, anon an
unstoppable train.
