In a station, carbon paper smoke hunches
In a night, in a fog dark light;
Window hole after window hole, shades in a blackening;
A steam train ignores me sadly.
Everywhere people are creeping up on a platform,
Blue black eyes staring over and over my embarrassment;
An adolescence tearful with nightmarish dreams.
Irritating sleep — peephole into a bone-white light;
And there they stand gawking with their parental faces.
Each gesture drains me like water down a basin;
Drugged to a baptismal in a no life for a while —
My head is throbbing as a dolorous bell.
I take some pills — red, purple, blue,
I am immune as their sleepy colors take me to a
Familiar landscape, a respite from hate.
I wait for the thudding, hammering source to abate,
I do not expect a miracle — the memory jostles; eyes
Arranging and rearranging on me like I’m a morsel of bread.
Wary in a dull patch of fatigue, I seize my senses;
Slow the stillness — forgetful waking,
I step off the platform: on the tracks a line of death.
Copyright © 03/26/18 lance sheridan®