Gold chain, lapping against the glass wall
My peripheral hearing
Grabs hold, like it were a freight train
Headed only for the mountains
And so I have subscribed
And so I may predict
Its next advances.
“De-chugga-de-chugga,” go the wheels
And I fit them into my three/four time
Tomorrow, I’ll choose a different one
Tomorrow, we shall syncopate
But along the track, I’ll spot a boulder
And my freight train will collide
Arching in the centre as an inchworm would.
I used to roll off and cry
Scorn the retched obstacle-
But I don’t ride the freight train anymore.