Transit to Disaster

In an incident, a race at windspeed,/the memos of my palmprint/ show as silvery story/of passage between bunks/ in tank towns,/ brought from the brink/I follow the motorman’s cues/indifferent to the hubbub./I always think out loud: /I murmur, how I make a lifetime,/from jilted lovers, one like the other. They hum together, forgotten,/then recalled to Paradise,/risking the path of a thousand prisons./ I ask at vespers, / I hear the diesels hum/, they shift into gear, on edge, /their ruin planned by tyrants./Hum, murmur, blind release turn to night.

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