across my forehead it wisped, angel hair fine,
mocking, reminding, my body's not mine.
strawberry blond, fermented, threadbare,
a moldy, rot mop, full of gunk, dead hairs.
looked up and around, cafeteria bright,
hard clutching to stories, of addicts, of might.
coffee cream, water tall, zen garden inside,
part addict, part transplant, part yet to divide.
point through silver bars, the screen oft reboot,
raise eyebrows in judgement, then turn on your boot.
crunch of the popcorn, on cement sticky sweet,
flick off the light, i'm alone in my heat.
nude, silver slats, peering through into dark,
sweating, convulsing, mind tearing up thought.
you are far from my arms now,
you are far from my heart.
turkey's just a dead carcass, yams golden mush,
jello mold's shake redundant, in vino veritas flush.
spoils of war are spoiled, dressed up in vain,
spoils of war are flushed, blindly down drain.
scanning the board for the next bullet train,
an express pass to redemption, resolution, unpain.
but my ride's the freight car, bumpy, multiple stops,
a lifetime to oil and vinegar bathe what's lost.
so this train moves forward, lead creaking ahead,
starting, smoking, inching onward, dead iron dread.
ah, then like hair wisp, a breeze light strokes my face,
no final destination, but this train stays not in one place...