Trains don’t really go clickety-clack
It’s more of a kadun-kadun

I’m sitting here on an old yellow-upholstered chair—vintage, I should say—in an old train still running from Here to There, and if you stay on long enough even to Over Yonder. Cause, you see, I can’t stay in Here any longer. I can’t throw up my hands and tuck in my head and pretend that there’re not horrible things happening right under my nose, right beside my dancing feet performing a quick-step around the human flotsam (“compare with ‘jetsam’”)—but that’s neither Here nor There.

My luggage—just a single suitcase—is stowed in the compartment above, not below, but of course that’s not all I carry, ba-dum tsh. I’ve been beaten, been stomped and bombed even, but more often than not I caught someone else’s breathin’—and found that I caught them not coming but leaving, which is a worse time than most to be a confident or to be deceiving, but worst of all to try for something you could believe in. Belief doesn’t work like everything else; we say something is more strong and more pure by saying it’s more true, but the reverse doesn’t work and logic’s usually hopeless too. Being overly practical won’t make you better, though it can get you through.

This train ride is bumpy, but while some bumps are stories there are others that just hurt. The bumps come with motion, though—stand still and you won’t feel a thing, and neither will they.

There is no better than Here, of course—it’s the same places, the same people, only once removed so there’s some time before the guilt starts to pull again. There’s always Nowhere, but that’s not on the line—it wouldn’t be Nowhere if you could get there by train, and once there it’s not exactly clear what you can do.

I don’t have answers, and the usual answers ring false, out of tune, failing to resonate with reality. Even if I never look back, there’s always something better, until there isn’t, which is worse.

But the bumps come with motion, and right now numb is worse than hurt.

This is a spoken word piece; maybe I’ll get a chance to record it some time.

Citations: “The Unfortunates”, A City on a Lake.

Part of Poem-a-Day 2013. Title donated by Lies R.

This entry was posted on September 04, 2013 and is filed under Creativity. Tags: Spoken word, Poem-a-day 2013