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WITNESS TO A TRAIN WRECK
Mel Waldman
Witness to a train wreck,
trauma-terrain
ghetto-land,
a witness.
Nearby, a churchyard,
The Cross,
cemetery,
God bless.
The victims
on the train
rushing across my hands in prayer,
can’t guess
why,
The stakes are too high.
Back to dust,
incomprehension,
a train wreck less than
nothingness.
In the distance, broken brakes
can’t stop a train on a mission. Whose command
screams-“the lifeless shall fly away”?
Witness to a train wreck,
screaming train
roseate, ruined, twisted, gnarled faces
of the Wasteland.
Can’t caress,
or say goodbye.
Why are ghosts untouchable?
Witness to a train wreck,
a crying train,
swirling scents of burnt flesh and
rest
in peace, lie
far away.
In a lake of rushing colors
cascading in my brain,
a flood of impossibilities command
me to witness
my
phantasmagoric goodbye.
Synapses on fire bake
my red train
and its smoky sleeper-a fiery void and
a dark blessing
as I
fly away
to a holy, holy land-MY TRAIN WRECK.
Why?
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