Train Station

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
you concieve shells

Submitted: December 01, 2010

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 01, 2010

A A A

A A A


Train station
 
The tracks are long. Empty
cut bitterly to fragments by ice.
The air splinters callous around my jaw
where I clench with all the strength left
a thousand stones
to grind and grind. The worst cold.
The book falters in my grasp.
I cannot speak.
Left with the luggage I have never known
such steel determination.
It is deadening to mull on heavy iron
which closes fire.
I have never wanted to see if unclothed
I could dance home on the rails.
I hate you. As the swan detests
his decision. Today signals my flawed
fawn.
I imagine your an ocean as you white-hoof
from my illogical politeness.
Power, oh I yield to it
it ebbs and flows from me now I see
the real drown
I will swim then? Will steady my mouthful of grit
you suddenly mean I can open my lungs.
I have never shaken. Never embodied pebbles;
lie down, down dilate into the next with pale exhalations.
Never have I removed the infatuation from earth to
see how this will never end.
I have never known hopelessness.
The tide is the reason the moon keeps on collapsing.
If I had known then how you’d subvert erosion
and devour everything I’d have swam dignified
into a train.

You conceive shells.


© Copyright 2018 Alex Jose. All rights reserved.

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