Poetry Blogs (dichotomy)

This isn't the last train. But the late train

has no quiet cars. If a baby squalls no conductor

shushes her. You must shush her yourself.

The late train has no dining car. So board

this train now, or pack a picnic, your own

tablecloth, napkins, napkin-rings, silver,

porcelain. The late train has no schedule.

Depends on how many girlfriends the brakeman

wants to vi...

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You opened my eyes 

then shut them again

the sun shone

then came the rain

the joyous rapture

and the ceaseless pain

unbridled laughter

that today sounds insane

once a transport of delight

now a trip down memory lane.

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