traintrack hopscotch, ancient hide and seek

watch the rust coral train roll in,
they got my number a long time ago
only they don't know what it could mean
without me standing here beneath the precious
stars rolling in behind the cloud's water
stretched thin like gingham over the hips
of the luscious grin of night turned sober
when you walked in, you in your chiffon
dress made with ginger leaves and spicy
sin, all drawn out like a car accident
that you would win.

And we turn to faces we know as petals
kept in scrapbooks thrown in the nettles,
which they make soup from and boy, is it
ever thin, this rationing of the soul
in oil drums splattered with rainbow residue
and all our engines waiting to begin,
how we travel in days left beside the station's
barb wire fences electrified from within
their tensile strength wound with rapture
of control's decadent and solitary sin,
the apportioning of what goes outside
and what stays locked away and in.

but you escaped through boxcar floorboards
to be with dandelions spreading their ashes
in seeds like eyelashes across the veldt
of blue that burgeons with the iris of eyes
fading with laughter and leaping after
traces of the sunlight hidden behind the
mountains ashtray building skyscraper
sillouetes across this disaster, the
ever-loving structure of Babel's hereafter
when armies raise their cries.

My dedication is not to manipulation
and my dedication is not to inquisition
and my dedication is learning to pledge
itself to certain honest dispositions.

And my confession takes place in silence
with my lips moving in mutters that could
be construed as the curses of a mother
tangled with the wires of control.

The dandelion bursts like a star across
your face blowing winds you never conjured,
and feel intent in manifold angelic answers
filling the cathedral of your ribs
with the questions you ask after you die.

Seems like tarot flicked across your summer
the wings of some virginal mansion set
upon the sky, you who came from traintracks
traveling through Dachau, who came in
breaths stammering like machine gun bullets
drowning out the dogs. You who stood up,
you have made up your bed in whispers falling
like rain from the sound of thunder, the
flash of lightning burnt into your cheek
like a sunset horizon, fast and filled
with streaks.

Drink your valleys, unfurl your grace with
conspiracy eyes and tell them why you hate
them, what they have done inside your eyes.
Tell them like a mountain, tell them
like a landslide, tell them like the sound
of a train going deep within.