Waiting for the Train

21 Jan

In an ode toast to my fellow revel

spirit friend, I write.  Despite all

full momentary conviction that no

good will come of it.  At least that no

good will come from this pen.

I walked past the tomb of Hamilton,

stand now on one side of these angled

monkey subway gates, listen to promises

of homeward bound trains rumbling

two stations away.  It’s just traffic above.

It’s Friday, and I should be glad

but instead I feel a familiar

dejection, scarf covering my nose

to avoid the scent of all that is alive

and real, and rancid.

I am no longer practiced in poetry

nor mindfulness nor even prayer

nor illumination.  These, I believe,

are the practice of freely releasing

words in a sacred waltz hop

epiphany that transcends

trains and time and the chains

of Friday 6 pm when you are

released, and given your pass

to hurry up and remember

who you are.


2 Responses to “Waiting for the Train”

  1. Ron January 21, 2012 at 11:01 am #

    Nice use of words.

  2. Steven Myers January 22, 2012 at 10:52 pm #

    sounds like a beginning
    for everyone,
    from chains at sunrise to beers chinging at sundown.

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