How heavy the pull of sleep seems now
while hidden clocks are sucking at the dark
and python sheets, sensing a soft throat,
close in. Beyond these thin walls
bleached winter streets wait, silent
for the shocking wail of the early train
and though, in distant buildings,
others toss too, and fret, I can
only think of the lucky ones: couples
and their dogs, padded down
while my solitary, thundering body
races on bleak rails through iron fields
into the mouths of towns, screaming.
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