Out of a hinged wooded entrance
in dovetail leaking splinters,
creaking loud and dark over the minutes
i hear the rail and tracks,
clang clang from the crossing turret-
wall shake in
in a room grief with the hour chant.
Down on linoleum with a pray and
a sink leak rusting,
glass doorknob reflecting decibels;
over the neighbor choir
i pace in a dust tongued sanctuary riven
with the claps of a
train horn- a railroad drenched plague.
At nightbreak in the sleep and dream,
i bury my head and bone
under the sanctity of pillow and sheet,
but then clouts the noise
like hammer and anvil- toppling me to
floor and carpet convulsing,
a horizontal man plucked from his bed.
From one story up, fifty feet away, on
creosote wood with spike
comes the beast cleft in iron and paint,
plucks the quiet
swallows it hard- shall i abandon out
of this place, this city?
(secretly, i hope for a derail).
Copyright © 05/17/2016 lance sheridan