Headlong

when the commuter rail goes by, running for its life,

screaming

in its mechanic way, i stand at the edge of the platform,

let it pull my hair up by its screeching hands, dragging

my eyes across its leaving. watching, until the train

is an atom splitting at the silver-tracked horizon line.

i can only leave in severities. i will let you leave, i know,

i know what that means.

i was born by the loss of half my mother’s

blood. let me show you how easily

we can take and give in one breath.

i am fond of things

toeing the line between

life and death.

what hookers were to jesus are what addicts

are to me. i love you i love your

leaving, i know, i know you

and your trying, your gasping for

air. i have also thrown up on so many goddamn lawns.

so let me wash your feet on your comedown;

it’s gonna hurt like hell but then you’re going to live !

haven’t you heard? survival is in.

your childhood bedroom is ripe for the haunting.

the swingset your father built in the backyard

a decade ago squeals but it still soars

the conifers will never die and

the train schedule will always be written

by tomorrow morning.

and not to start screaming, but i’m still here!

all apologies, but my hereness is a scream itself.

i just never thought i’d meet you.

this is thrilling.

when the commuter rail had scurried

to the next town over, a pinhole silence and some

unkempt hair, the history of me

prayed eastward at my feet, then ran

for its life.