Journey
from sad clutches
those that do.

Lights
Lights piercing skyward
in mist on the pane
light piercing skywards, sparkling tiara
outer space rain

Through these caverns
middle of night I fled,
crowded in millions
some asleep, some half dead.

The train is comfortable. There is enough light, subdued, enough to write by.
Plenty of room in a falling-back chair.

These men, with
wrought iron nerves
pounded and senseless
lying at the feet of the stone altar,
the stone mocks them:
—You thought you could win me,
you men you are broken
No bottle will save you
give up your life now.—

In the belly of
cavernous beast
silent derision
met by silent wet minds.
Only blood passes through them
and they answer:

—Alive—

Pass these ways I must
for such journey as this,
fearful and nervous,
for none could I trust.
One spoke to me
and like brothers across
a great gulf,
the answer, a bond
and into each night
the two of us thrust.

I saw a man in the station. An obvious wino, he was opening all the quarter lockers. It made me paranoid because I had left my belongings in one.

Out of the metro
and out onto the street
Two great blocks I walked Mind spilling on stone
Empty streets, stone staring at stone, a house of mirrors.

I flirted with the idea of not being paranoid. To make peace there,
But the stone was bound as I could never be. And in the funhouse ‘such dangers as I feared were common. I sought only to pass.

And pass I did
out of the bowels
and onto the cushion ride.
The steam from the heater
billowed in front of the glass
beyond which shadowy forms did move
and the mist it created
was just too much.

We came out of the tunnel
passing through the sleeping city
and street lamps burned just below
sending sheets of light
the mist
and it was just too much.

And the light piercing skyward
in the mist on the pane
covered the night sky
with outer space rain