WE RIDE THE RAIL

WHO can fathom universal mysteries
and those cosmic eyes of pulsars;
a child’s laughter | a bottle
of flickering ray caught inside
any throat;
then when dreaming our Soul sheds
weight by squeezing light from
our tipped toes
as a kangaroo jumping
like a thought through
the needle of some mysteriously
unknown being familiar to our selves
there is no fine line between
understanding and obliviousness:
you either understand or not.
They watch as a spot of an eye
fixed upon each of us. My lips
are dried from the winds of torment
and my heart is a locomotive whose
clenched wheels ride the rails
from South to North. East to West.
We all have a seat there —
with assigned arrivals and
departures.

:: 03-10-2019 ::