THE TRAIN AT THE END OF THE WORLD.
The train goes to the end of time.
It sits there and it waits.
I find myself standing on the end of
oblivion,
the time it takes for control to
manifest.
I am self-absorbed in the realm of
darkness.
Time forces us to a standstill.
The broken clock marches forward,
and gleams of promise; hope fades
to fear.
Light is like a folding flower,
it goes around and around.
The wheels of the train are spinning.
I am a colored wheel. I light my own
way
in the dark.
The train goes through thick, gooey
mud.
I am concerned with what will happen
the next day; the next and the next
until
time breaks down and rots away.
The river is wide. The train breaks
down
in the water. Rust rots away. I am
broken,
like a clock, that falls in the water
and time does not end.
