Monday, September 14, 2015

When The Tracks Are Empty and Still

I was wondering what it would feel like
to hear you say you've memorized
the freckles on my chest and declared
them a constellation 
I am trying to remember what it's like
to fall asleep holding a body hold me
I am holding a beer
As the train passes I watch it through
a camera lens, tonguing the crooked 
spaces between my teeth
I'm sweating but only notice because
my pen slips between my fingers
I am pressing too hard, I press replay
and listen to the same song again
I empty my ashtray and it reminds me
of everything that I should do
 cut the grass, mop the floor,  or
figure out why steady, rumbling of trains
meets me with a calmness that worries
when the tracks are still and empty

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