I. The midnight train

Gaze upon the emptiness of the glass

Telephone poles racing past coach

Saliva seats and dreams and aches

Giving way to a wired first class

Mores and morals and more;

Seroquel spilt in the pocket of the seat in front

Would have taken a benzo if he wanted

To die from grief coursing through his liver;

Tinkling of a spoon against a bowl

Her reheated oats in the dining car

Contrition and craving: husband and hound;

Gold flowing in the riverbanks near his palace

Built on dreams others cannot have

Tomorrow another transfer of hard-earned cash;

Gaze into the emptiness of the glass

And despair:

II. Train of thought

A laugh nearly escapes me but I am fortunate

To have a stone face, a monotone voice, a place to be

Quiet, Violet. The bounty placed upon my head is great

A nice juicy watermelon against the pavement shaped

An iron maiden for my soul I suppose, if they can catch me first

Oh, they will get you one day, Violet says

Along this desert road I crave water

There’s some right there! Do you want me to get it for you? Pepper the Red piped, ever helpful with a numbing swig

Everyone I love, everyone who once loved me, has forsaken me

Abandoned like roadkill after promoting the tenderness of my flesh

Like on that Connecticut road where an airbag snapped my birth mother’s neck

How sad! How ironic, Pepper quipped; Nobody’s safe, Violet added

Brian Blue mumbled something I couldn’t quite hear

But the collectors, the voices, the bottles

They are nice to me, they never leave me even in my deepest despair

One, two, three, what a nice crowd, what a nice round number three is!

III. Trained to love

When I see myself in your ponderous eyes

Is there anything behind them that sparks

Or is it gears turning, tracing premade grooves

This train we ride, running the same routes

On the same bolted rails, those ears askew

Antennae receiving all, processing unknown

That nose, what colors are in the air if any

Are not of what is provided under this roof

At meals sat at the table, ravenous scraps

Dropped in the aisle without enough intention

Conversations infested with intercom static

Yet despite all that I am enough for you—

I worry what flavors your affections are, or

Is your love only for my flavors that remind

Of a saintly life long gone, lolling comforts

That linger along tracks, only in your mind?

IV. The gravy train

I press on the red rubber button

Their vulgar rumbles are not my concern

“Walk a mile in their shoes”

If I wore them I would simply walk

Away so I am never disturbed

Besides, our world is good, is it not?

Though I laugh little, I live a lot

I network from Europe to France

All that can be desired in my vlogs

(Pardon the Nestlé ad on this suite tour)

My line of work can be difficult too

Reacting to their suffering and all

To say so much but also so little

Moral neutrality is a true art form

Earned by pulling up my bootstraps

That father handed down to me

V. Sin city light rail

Even the emptiness of the glass gives way

To the dawning of another day

As the slumber sloughs off the midnight train

The light convenes on the metal rails

Gleaming in parts, rusted in others

When stopped at last they step

Through the threshold, onto the platform

The air is crisp imbued with smoke

Maybe a fresh start, whose chance

Is a game you do not have to play

But we would delight in your presence Sir…

Oh madame, I insist you give it a gander

I know there is much you are itching to win (or perhaps to lose?)

No, no — you have to sit this one out

It is not for you.

Better luck tomorrow.