the prairie became an extension of the city
thanks to the railroad
so finding solitude was easy,
in the yard steaming hot
through haze cyclops diesels
rumbled threatening inert freight,
a man nimble over tracks
knew passage between the lines
many years spent here
living on the perimeter,
where boxcars became brittle and fell apart,
it was here he served god
and those others displaced,
god was an argument for cheap whiskey
and sorry nights,
the others came to him
as in his throat he had words and lyrics
written in his own hand,
his boxcar a place for the dead
those whose limbs had ceased in all exhaustion,
he spoke sermon gave a sense of rapture
then would take each body out
to that solitude for burial,
wind caught and burned faces
heaven a casual component,
the sky a vault
and mountain halls echoing nature,
love had evaded him for so long,
passion cast upon the train
making right for those about,
even in slumber he did not crave
the early life that was chest deep in darkness,
fellow man and a swirl of small favors
cleansed his sanity,
he labored as a persistent mouse
to save the dead from further disgrace,
and hoped his dust would find
the same
velvetmedia 