Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the mystery is derailed
some place near Edgewood
on the way to Wilmington but not ever
getting there
no lunch at New Castle
no eventual dinner at Temple
no listening to the Irish poet
at Villanova
Lucille Ball died
her hair black
sits in a chair
like Jeremy Bentham
every night on TV
somewhere
I am on a siding
pretending to find
an engine
to haul my life away
the old ideas leaked
evaporated
the tank car empty
but don't light a match
the comedy is in poor taste
laugh tracked
the producers smug
I sit in a caboose
last one on the line
portable TV plugged
into a switch
comedy tragedy absurdity
nothing makes sense
if it did I'd be going
somewhere
the little engine that could
is blue
awaiting Mr Topham Hatt's
signal
and thus
chug-a-lug
I will
I will
up the hill of language
the mystery will clear
a puff of smoke
will clear
and exhilaration
shall roar
down the rails
TV off
the BIG Picture small
nothing at all
to tip happiness
off track
you bet

mystery abounds, rumbles along the tracks....like a reflected life....the weight of a locomotive existence....from the perspective of the caboose....enjoyed the ride

oblivions ride
lucy on the edge
the flow down
the page
mind sweeps
as i feel the ride
yes i feel the ride
enjoyed this one Dan

I grew up in a railroad town. Massive beasts. My April-to-October bedroom was the front porch of the house and the coupling sounds of the box cars being linked together (100 to 150 cars...three engines, sometimes) has always stayed w/me.

One of my favorite old time movies "Emperor of the North" (with Lee Marvin / Ernie Borgnine) is classic. I have a poem about that. Will dig it up and post.

I'm one of the few guys who don't mind being stopped at a RR Crossing for a long train

68degrees