Smoky Blue Literary and Arts Magazine #6

[untitled] A lone whistle cut short and this chair alongside waits till its wheels, half iron, half the way trains are calmed on gravel beds, let you push till everything you gather smells from steam from a mouth that is not yours –doze off! the rails will carry you between Spring and this blanket filled with shoreline that no longer moves closer and yes, the shadow is yours, bit by bit the station you’ll need, built from homelessness and no one to sit near your heart, hear how weak its breathing is windswept and the sky unstoppable, taking on water and not sure why it’s going down inside you.

Simon Perchik