Cracks

It’s a white night. The chill of fall
seeps into midnight tears time-warp suspended in the air.
They demand attention.
The world is a death-shroud with forged markings,
             the tears on your face belong to the night.
The moon waxes and wanes.
Somewhere behind the veil,
beyond the reaches of Twilight Zone fingers,
there is a world of
             green, yellow, blue, and violet
             with only a small touch of white.
Beyond the reaches, there is a world
             devoid of tears and
             plastic wrapped chocolates that melt in July heat
where the night is black and
tastes like vomit.

Welcome home.

 

TeleTrain

The night resonates like a fog horn,
but with the ocean a thousand miles away,
it must be a train
sailing through town at
950 knotts.
Steel wheels smooth steel tracks
the way only metal on metal comforts.
Friction sparks held in like static.
Build up,
freed in the next town.
They spread through pavement
like gossip,
charge streets, sidewalks, buildings
with the taste of foreign lightening…
a small taste…
a hint on the tongue…
spreads like a telephone game.

Before the wheels reach
the next crossing,
palates are wet
for another nibble
to come to them.
They line up at the tracks,
junkies finding a crack sale.