Public Transport

1 September 2013

on the first train to freedom
they told me of a gaol bird singing
‘love is just a ballast to stop these ‘ere
souls cart-wheeling off into the
empty night, do-dee-doo
dum-dee-dum…’

but on the last train out
I saw it all:
smelling the looks of lovers
who would never meet
their hidden glances
excused to be less
dead fly Milton bright
& thoughts toward action organised like
a junkyard backpacker bus
fallen into disuse
or like the errant memory of where keys
lie
while typing love letters in the dark

too many believe in the mask of next time

& as I turned away
outside my window
I felt it all:
the flowers in the cemetery
waving in the soft anhelations
of the gods

& of life breezing by.

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