North Head Lighthouse, Washington State
Who is the ghost that walks the train?
The apparition tugs on our shirt sleeves
But all rides are displaced
We are logged into otherness,
Our faces dug deep into ourselves
Reflections fed to us
Wires from out our ears
Wi-Fi, stuck in our gut
Download speeds of the central nervous system.
Our spines reverberate myriads of chatter.
A silent rustle, instilling itself
Convincing us without us ever knowing
How important we are compared to
All other representations of knowing
While we are in the midst of knowing.
It’s called automatic updates
The train moves automatically
We are in a moving bubble…..and
From the windows see sprawl
Hurling past us………………tame trees
Surly lawns, hybrid bushes
Dotted between office buildings
Who give out loans, advice, and massages,
Fast food made to look like good food
Good food made to look like fast food
We look to make it home, safe
To pass through concrete stops embedded
With glitter and tactile paving
Ghost, ghouls, and the sleepless.
All stops are washed down, nightly
To make sure everything is clean
We wait for our stop, or stops
Trapped in by the prerecorded
Professional voicings of destinations
Which are never really stops
Just representations of stops.
Glued to our world, the rails
We read in glorious fonts….about
Long-gone idiots and fools, ghosts.
We are fascinated
about the sky
How its falling
Why its falling
Why it should fall
What we should do when it falls
If it didn’t fall
There wouldn’t reason.
For us to be living it up
We could ride forever like this
We will ride forever like this
On this train that gets us to work
Takes us back home again
Between murders and wars
Youtube and hookup sites
These things that record us
Splinter meaning into twos
until all movement becomes reaction
To representations (ghosts) of
The electricity that sings about
Who we think we are