Trains Running in My Dream

The trains are all asleep
In the embittered pine forest
Windows disentangle themselves
From their ashen coats
Boreas assailed in twilight’s grate

The moon extinguishes her cigarette of a still comet
A star descends into the cesspool of anguish, pinot
The night weaves garlands of clouds
Crowning the snowy, implacable hills

All flesh, life is in deep slumber
From the mountain to the lake
All but you, me, us on the vagrant rails

Axles inscrutably spin the sky into a coat of solitude
Gears morph clouds into air-flowers
Are we but butterflies flitting,
In the spring-like smog,
Past the amber-paned sky,
And the tinsel sun?

The train of dreams departs the station of my eyes
And enters your soul
Here melancholy coagulated
In lost keys to April’s coveted light
Lapsed coins to night’s vending machine of dreams:
Water’s smile
The pendant of a bluebell
Autumnal roots

The switchman is a tea-brewer of
Verdant dreams
The absurd world is but a pre-loved kettle
The womb’s water
Kerosene of childhood days
Spray of the tulip-barge approaching the
Peachy horizon
Throbbing sparks as
Raining into your
Gaping mouth

Our lips coalescing
Into the sole mass of an
And an infinite
Track of laughter


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