Train of Thought

I sit idly inside my mind

before the Train arrives.

I wander between my ears, behind my eyes -

wondering where I'm going.


I am lost in outer space.

Yet I maintain these chains;

bound by racing thoughts of wasted days,

rigid with tense trepidation.


I'm greeted with a groan

in this dank cave far below - 

the Train is blameless - because it has no control,

having spent its life on a single track.


I approach the machine

and hear cold metallic warnings,

steamy breaths and engines roaring;

I pause and vacillate


I inhale deeply and stare

It groans back into motion, unaware.

And I turn, and leave.

This poem is about: 


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