jack energy

She looks like a shorter, beardless Abe Lincoln in drag.


Rain Wave Train


It is a humid New England morning,
ionic like just before a storm.
The ash gray clouds hover close
like flat cotton over our wet waking jewel heads.
People moving toward the train stop slowly,
their heads are swirled with different colors
of blown glass. This scene spins into
a recently discovered hollow moon rock.
The rock has a small metallic air vent
attached to the outside.

A small group of people are scattered along
the narrow paved strip by the tracks.
There is a white man in his fifties
standing to my left, his face is drawn
and pockmarked. He is reading a gun magazine.
The walkie talkie on his wide brown
leather belt has been squawking every minute
or so. He slowly rolls his thick nailed thumb
across one of its controls while continuing to read.
An elderly woman who had been waiting in the
doorway of an apartment across the street
is making her way towards the stop,
then I hear the subtle, distant chugging squeal
of the train winding down the tracks
from its last stop. The old woman is
wearing an American flag skullcap and a worn
melon green dress from '73. She looks
like a shorter, beardless Abe Lincoln
in drag. She has a permanent smile.
It's just a two car train.
The four people waiting farther down
for the rear two cars start to make
their way towards the front. The green and
gray train moves slowly to a stop.
The front doors make a hydraulic squirt/ dry
whistle sound as they fold up, apart and
firmly press to the sides of the entrance.
I can't see the driver as I run my pass through
the machine beside him.
He has a green canvas curtain pulled almost
all the way. I find a single seat,
the middle of three to my left.
The atmosphere inside the train is still and ionic.
"Blanford", came the drivers voice as it seemed
to pour out soothingly in multi stereo.
He has the voice of the Tin Man
from The Wizard of Oz. Breathy. Hypnotic.
The train begins to pull slowly toward the next stop.
As the stops go by I am losing track of where I am
along my morning commute into Boston.
My mind starts drifting to the book I'm reading
on trepanation and shadow cats flashing in a bell tower.
Dragon parade and flame throwers.
Horses with lantern heads...
I jerk awake suddenly, just as my head is falling forward.
I am reeling still from the alpha state.
Things seem dreamy and scattered with a sacred ash.
The driver's voice seems to be getting breathier
and closer with each stop.
The train pulls from its last above ground stop
into the slow dip of the tunnel.
I get up and walk towards the front of the train.
I look to my left at the driver,
blink, then pull the curtain open.
I am suprised not to find a person wearing
cheap sunglasses flipping switches.
Instead there is just this steel pole coming out of the seat
with a thimble like 'head' on top.
Very much like a Tin Man prototype or something.
It has two pieces of copper wire where a mouth should be.
The thimble head turns toward me slowly,
its mouth wires vibrating as it says,
"Good day, now."
Its head is full of spinning,
scorching copper wire, swarming with acrid blue sparks.


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