Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.



Friday, December 7, 2012

soliloquy from a freight yard; an open fall window.

when i wuz a bit younger
i used to somewhat dream of riding the rails;
i started my poetry book series
and called it 'soliloquy from a freight yard'.
i went to art school
in webster
studied 2d design and
web design and writing
but really lived in student housing
and there was a rail-line behind my student apartment.
i started teaching myself to tag
on those trains that would stop
as conductors ate at the nearby arbys.
i still won't tell u whut i write,
but u can guess.
then i dreamed of riding the rails,
why?
 i wanted out!
and i was sure someone had done it to that effect.
a few glorious nights
with baby bird and ben avi
we would jump on the trains
and fold ourselves tenderly
in tiny crevices
little platforms, between
the cars,
i even tagged my name on the insides of those coalcars
and we would jump off maybe
one mile down the line
it kindof hurt
and was so fucking glorious
to bite the gravel
rolling away from those too-huge
and mighty churning wheels.

i never did ride the rails
Really-
but my poetry book series is still going
 and in one book is poems about when me coop and jake spent the night in a train yard in dupot IL
outside of st. louis
trying to do just that,
we would watch the trains groan and churn like huge leviathans out in the
hot-cool summertime night
with crew change in hand
into the morning's wee hours
waiting for our chance that never
came.
we wanted a way out---
and instead we moved back in with our parents.
 but
i used to frequent this punk house in
town called bolozone
and you wouldn't believe what affinity
i had with the train riding punks
there
and they would talk of such glories
drinking beast ice on the porch
allthetime
that i would revel in
and agree with
but never go there
but still they were homies
no doubt about that.
one winter was frigid with just a woodstove
i was sleeping on the couch of bolozone
with petes pit bull backtrack
who would gnaw and shed on me
all throughout those cold nights.

i don't think about the rails a whole lot anymore
but still meditate on high life and anarchy
as i would imagine that's what i'd do if i did,
and i've still been to boston and big sur and hawaii and so forth
in minivans and re-appropriated church buses and airplanes
so there is that
also; here i sit comprehending the rails once more
jake tells me my poems still have a freight-yard-like-aspect to them,
for purposes of closure on that poetry-book-series
it's falltime too
so thus it'll be called;
 'soliloquy from a freight yard: an open fall window'.

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