the day it never rained was here;
i saw the cracks begin to yawn.
oceans picked-up their long skirts,
and skipped on the beaches;

the Mariana trench is looking for its zipper.

and the inside became the exterior;
lows become high, deeps become shallows.

i fit right in.

i was in an italo calvino novel; set in Portugal,
and aboard a locomotive chugging thru a mountain gap.
eyes open for a provinicial town or a way-station.

evidently i and the other passengers, who only had
their backs facing the front, knew not where we
were bound or our duties. eyes dull, straight ahead.

italo shouldn't have left us like this; one more twist
and the reader will close this novel. and it's just begun.
seems intriguing though. but we can't keep this up.


story starting and chugging like this locomotive.
and rather tiring on us passengers. laborious to him.

11/27/2012

Posted on 11/28/2012
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan