Dreams of Steel

About the second whiskey in my guards depart on midnight trains, and fell the station of refrain, wherein, wherein, wherein

I start to clamber back to tracks, where sleepers step with railed regret, and for a moment I forget the lack, the lack, the lack

of fastened steel that’s tried and true; it courses in pursuit of bends that buckle at the force you send into, into, into

my wheels-for-feet that grip the turn, knock loose the rusted threads and heads, chase down the straights for those who fled; Return! Return! Return!