Flailing and failing; fighting and fear and feelings of
falling,
frustration pounding like pistons, pumping paranoia and
frustration pounding like pistons, pumping paranoia and
priming the self-protecting impulse to run.
The grinding squeal of brakes and pressure plates
The grinding squeal of brakes and pressure plates
squeezing like a million daily decisions and
considerations
stopping you, us, stranded…
on the train whose rusty tracks
on the train whose rusty tracks
we watch weave over rustic hills, off into the
ruby red sunseted distance.
We wait, for the overheated engines of emotion
that have been driving us,
for the glowing sparks of steel dust to settle, the
billowing
steam and smoke, to cease;
we wait, for what,
unknown,
comes after the
enveloping silence.
comes after the
enveloping silence.
