Beatnik1979

Star Child

Are you a star child? 

 Can you make the flowers bloom 
with a wave of your hand?
Do diamonds wonder what it would be like
 to be you?
Do your words linger long
 like waves, 
made to lap the beaches velvet shore
 and rock in its poetic ebb?
Does your gravity pull the 
Moon
Earth
Stars 
Down
 into the infinite orbit of your eyes; 
and when welling a tear,
could they wash away the sea?
 
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Train Station

A train stops 

somewhere.
Pale strangers
with hungry eyes 
and dazed  faces
gazing ,
dragging baggage 
and dusty- shoed feet
 right over left,
into the station.
 
 
Miles of 
dimly lit cavern-corridor;
the acrid city air is heavy 
with filth and hopless
prayer.
woven metal wastebaskets overflow 
yesterdays black and white news
wet;forgotten.
And ticket-stubs
torn in half 
like the curbside heart
of those bid fare well
 
shabby cloth flea market millionaires
in toothless rummage-through
almost carefully...
for tin vessel pocket change
to trade for 
bottles of wine,
or six- packs of beer.
 
Clinging to the littered walk,  
the transient liquid mass
of faceless caricatures
sweep like dust
across a glass photograph.
Starry-eyed children laugh
and talk happy things 
to a gray haired lady in a 
cat sweater.
My how youve grown.

A sharp mechanical scream
made necessary 
diversion from the hi-heeled
 woman 
flesh vendor,
hair dischevled; 
pleading for fare.

A serpet hiss as doors open and exhale  
an overdressed man with plastic hair
carrying flowers; 
greeted by his long awaited lover
and her open arms .
Transition.
Train station. 
Mysterious intention. 
Cause,  or affliction.
  The place where the journey
begins or ends.
 A travel weary heart.
castaway of a vast unknown,
or drawn back to sanctuary home.
Where love chases its 
furry phantom tail....
And
where hopes sprout
 like spring blossoms,
or wither 
like the skin of an old whore.
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