Feeling mountain in my legs, train in my direction, gladness in my pelvis.
Tag Archives: train
black flies in the golding light
the piercing chirp the here-I-am of jays
the coo-coo mourning the obstreperous chirp of sparrow
and no crow no crow not now and
with the comprehensive smell of garbage early train
Are sounds more interesting than devastations? Where does feeling lie, where’s the trapdoor? Wily, wily, wily, Mr. Coyote, let me in. Mr. Desert, let me bring my withered limbs. Just bleach my bones after you nibble on my skin. Irradiated or non-irradiated, genetically engineered in a most horrendous tribal fashion, I am here now, yet a remnant, a recessive gene, a regression sans vitality, a lack of luck, a loss. And here I am considering the withering of my death. Listening to this particular rain in its accumulation, the sump pump hums and gurgles, the train whistles, New York-bound.
Sunlight. The train lumbers in the opposite direction. Commuters. My secret commutation.
I hear the train. I hear the surface water sound that invades this house. This is a house of strangers. I am intrigued by watercolors. I am happier here if I pretend I live in California OR Oregon. Yes, hey ho, I live in Oregon.
I like to look at things. I really enjoy drives or train rides, even plane rides, because we can look at things, an unrolling scroll of new things passing before our eyes. Also—walking.
The train goes by. It’s lovely to ride the train at this time of day. Very quiet passengers, almost empty trains. We took a train from Amsterdam’s train station back to the airport at this time. Working people with staid composure. Kids in dark baggy clothing.