In a fog

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®

In a fog