there are 2 trains
the shunting trains they chug like tiny vessels in a storm very calm
the one the other a confusion like snakes writhe greyly in a pit
in the smokehouse
a star casts a faintness of light
also they were framed in gold
as if an aurora at dawn
but there was only one train out
men ask the way to lost freedom
lost freedom
theres no through trail but smoke
Flynnpoetry 