Tonight is the perfect night to stop apologizing
For the banging train station in my basement.

whether it’s short line or pennsylvania i cannot say and truthfully,
it doesn’t matter at this point.
it’s a new year for a new engineer.
how’s that.

Whether you’re chasing cars
Or coincidentally taking a detour route that just so happens to have the same destination as mine, is insignificant at this point.

they’ve actually evaluated this entire situation, and decided to remove the color green
from all of the stoplights
wherever i go.
traffic will be right on track for being the noisiest nightmare i’ll probably ever
outlast.

Thank you though,
Thank you for the free transatlantic sensory quarantine.
Thank you for no longer putting coal in the coal spot.
I don’t know enough about these things,
To call it anything else.

my hungriest apologies if you wanted clarity,
if you could see the skyline today from where i am, you’d realize,
they turned it into an event parking lot for ghosts who can’t pay
with real money.

Hmmm,
Maybe I’ll call it something like the devil, which is horrible, because backwards,
That spells lived. And there is nothing full of life about burning to death.
Not right now at least

how dark. without fuel, gasoline or fumes for the furnace’s impatient flames,
i miss the dangerous games.
i’m certain i’ve recently hired someone special specifically to look for lanterns.
i had to have, with the information provided by the obvious future.
i had to have


Enough though,
Enough of that free transatlantic corpse-like shutdown of the century.
Enough of that paranormal jousting for the sake of getting on bored.
I don’t know enough about these things,
To call it anything else.
How about this time, I just stop.

I learned how to use the brakes like an anxious orthopedic surgeon,
always cracking his skull,
looking too hard to find fractured things worth fixing.

look. nothing is broken.
put away those rushed fiction x-rays. i’m part of an automatic-biography nowadays.

Steam avoider, you’re keeping the old paint young,
and the 70’s wallpaper that everyone complains about when they come over,
has never fought so hard for its life to stay in its place,
but no one cares.
I love this train station more because it’s a real extension of this valuable house.


the engine itself, the steel framed body that moves through the tunnels,

it’s come to an abrupt and seizure-like halt
it’s the horse who broke his legs on the big jump.

It’s the difference between showing and telling.

10/28/2009

Author's Note: Romantic Communism at its finest. a pair of lost birds.

Posted on 10/28/2009
Copyright © 2024 Steven Kenworthy