Nightrail

The rules are:

→Below 45 miles per hour, at all designated crossings, 15 seconds before, 

but no more than 20 seconds (before).

→O for short – for Long

The standard pattern remains two long, one short and one long

__   __  O  _____

→Most importantly*do not mistake: O __ for __O

One means inspecting the breaks due to malfunction, 

                                                           the other signals approaching a station.

→The restriction is now under a lawn mower, 

horns must be kept lower than 106 dB,

*Pain has been recorded at 125 dB*

The train relentless           last night                     when then rooms dark-in

                             the horn and heavy steel wheels push                         on past

Silent , one-eared heads

-interrupting-           -the thought-              ---process—yes---where were –

Before, it just came again...come again

            Two tracks too much

Amtrak                                                             a freight of     BNSF Railway

Park and Ride, park in the driveway, sit in traffic on the freeway-

                          Toss and Spin, Smolder. Seriously?

People are lined with pennies to pinch under cog and sun, coal for going places.
In the midnight, there must be quarters.

It is called interest. It builds, accrues, and you rarely notice it, until you 

start stealing thoughts on rails

                                          laid down on the line 

                                                                            with the precision of an air horn

rolling over
                   corrugated sheets under tin-eared scalps.

Painting by Paul Signac [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

                                                                                        

Hand me downs (II)

The local train blares by

to cause alarm

although familiar, futility gains strength with steam.

With this new engineer at the helm from the rear

he calls *Attention* to his pressures and passages

as though he

the town crier knew the time

anymore.

This whine is the bell vibrating raw gravity-

                           hard to see

coming straight, near, far, coming, going...

All the rest is color coded for us,

              lights and trigger switches

are on the outside, green and red, black and blue

Stop and Go for Simons followers.

The straight path, as the crow flies,

is soft and well worn, even in the sky

                     drawing diameters

in his radii, he is right on a smooth track.

To make it back home for dinner, meatloaf.

To rely on regular things such as

weak forces, sympathy and cacophonies.

Painting by Frits Thaulow, The train is arriving (1881) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Minute drops

The first train blares its horn
ripping thru the quiet town
at five:eighteen
in lieu of the alarm clock
that ran slow-
it goes to show...

Kicking up dust and sand,
it may take some time
for the eyes to adjust
to light rays
lasering the pupil
shrinks as day
cracks the ceiling
wide open.

It smells distinctly like rain
that none saw coming
since there were no puddles
to prove it.

Tho the tracks
were both still
warm to the touch,
and the mist counts
as precipitation.

It adds up over time,
and passes the miles.
Blurring the light infinitesimal
strewn across space
in broad strokes.
Time keeps losing its place
on the train of thought,
while the whistle blows
such primitive perceptions
as these right
outside the window.

Crystal beads streak
backwards behind the ears
as memories
dew
condense and transport us
while wide awake
but a little late.


Painting by J. M. W. Turner, pre 1844 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.