Jangles and Drums

The train in its track jangles and drums.
I followed thought to be lost among
purpose and worth, such tired crooked thumbs.
Freckled California girl, so young.

I followed thought to be lost. Among
landscape it’s so easy to forget
freckled California girl, so young.
Fields of unmitigated regret.

Landscape, it’s so easy to forget,
draws night and day, one to another.
Fields of unmitigated regret
span history, expand, and smother.

Draws night and day, one to another,
so does memory to your body
span history, expand, and smother.
Optimistic, we’ve all been naughty.

So does memory to your body
opalesce a river of solace.
Optimistic, we’ve all been naughty.
Our bloodied lips kiss to coalesce,

opalesce. A river of solace
clambers in this clamor bereft of
our bloodied lips’ kiss. Coalesce,
weave more than seems to live. It’s enough.

Clamber in this clamor bereft of
purpose and worth. Such tired crooked thumbs
weave more than seams. To live—it’s enough.
The train in its track jangles and drums.


“Jangles and Drums.” Train Tracts, Utah (2008).