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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Horror. From the collection " Tempe Freight Trains."



The machinary whines

Down along the freight train line,

That runs drunk

Over the sections

Of your spine,

Through the mirrors 

Of lust

And the nights of crime,

While your flesh crawls

With spiders,

And is dressed in lime,

And your eyes

Are so hollow

They're totally blind,

While to the heavens

The moon

Can no longer climb,

As the bones

Of death's fingers


A half glass of wine.


Submitted: January 11, 2018

© Copyright 2021 tom mcmullen. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:


Criss Sole

I don't think i'll look at wine the same way now. Great poem Tom.

Mon, June 29th, 2020 6:35am


Thanks Criss, I drink water these days!

Mon, June 29th, 2020 1:02am

Sharief Hendricks

Aha...Master Tom, you can even make an enjoyable thing like wine send chills down my spine...

Loved it Sir!

Wed, October 21st, 2020 8:31am


Thanks very much Sharief, wine's terrific when you're having the D T.s, best stick to metho!

Wed, October 21st, 2020 1:42pm

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