Destination: nowhere
By Parson Thru
- 1144 reads
HSTs.
I love these fucking trains.
They’ve snaked their way across these tracks
since when I sat beside the Ouse,
the Yorkshire one,
watching prototypes on Tollerton straight.
Thoughts cast into undertow,
lost in never-ending flow,
I heard them screaming past.
Now,
rusted, rippled, patched-up,
beaten the crap out of by RENFE, TGV and ICE,
they've had their day.
But when I need to get back home,
tired, all burned out,
I’d rather ride one of these than anything else.
So quiet I forget the bullshit,
stare into the window's oily pool and dream.
Or pull my book out and be someplace else.
Sit me on a train and watch me slip away.
Destination: nowhere.
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Comments
Mr Parson, this is beautiful,
Mr Parson, this is beautiful, I'm alone in my office until nine watching the second office in the dark window and noting aprt from my fingers is moving. I could do with a destination nowhere before nine when the worker bees trickle in, most of them five or ten minutes late and the buzz becauses a cacophany. The last two words of this are so bleak and yet at the seme time they are inspiring because nowhere could turn out to be the best place to be.
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