A Song To Brahma:
To stand between two tracks
with my legs slightly spread
the same with my arms
only more so, and above my head,
a full-bodied embrace
of a greasy locomotive’s
omnipotence,
its iron barreling with a plud
and waning roar
through my disheveled hair
and other assorted parts,
slinging them beneath its sweep
over its shoulder,
onto the stones and sturdy weeds,
is like what I really want
(except the exact opposite).
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