Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

December 28, 2004

on a train going south

On a train going south
by Northwest WA,
through a country
migrated by hope
that one can start from nothing,
bearing the impression of being camped in,
the overnight stop of refugees,
of busying its people
with survival
     in spite of affluence,
in remoteness
     in spite of density,
on the frontier
     in spite of absolute power
already carved as river canyons, deep
and dry of possibility
     in spite of hope.

In this country, nothing needs dwell long.

It's a palace of placelessness
decorated with the wrong
trees and concrete,
with the smokestack background
music of rails that have lost
their thrust, been left to rust
beneath leaves of grass
that grow unnoticed 'til
they're cut by wanton trains.

A country of transition, right up to the end of the line.

On a train going south
by Northwest WA,
through a country
where birds nest in the thin
lines of trees beside the tracks,
weave their small
nests thinly in the facade
along the wellborn weary
right of way.


Posted by delire at December 28, 2004 06:07 PM
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