flip the dream switch
bury the hatchet
in the two ply gauze
of pseudo fantastic

swerve like Brando
or maybe James Dean
eat a kumquat
in the lap of the queen

paint a chair
on the staircase of truth
cinder blocked echoes
a confessional booth

you learned about love
from a stripper named Fay
by reading her diary
that she left on the train

“love each other
like it’s Christmas Eve
at the 7-11
and the slurpees are free”

carry butane bullets
in your heart for the girl
fictitious erotic scenarios
make your flag unfurl

kiss your spouse
as you spoon into bed
the smell of ramen
and the colour red

Rene ~ October 20, 2012

This poem was inspired by a d’Verse Poets challenge “Steampunk and enjambments” I was too late for the link up but that shouldn’t stop you from checking out the link.

Missed it by 10 hours, Brian 🙂

38 thoughts on “train

  1. missed it by….that much….this might just fit todays prompt as well…kinda…as we are talking about the ages of (wo)man….and for me this felt almost like growing up….i mean i never learned by reading a strippers diary on the train, but its never too late you know….smiles….at the 7-11 and the slurpess are free….love that…there is a lot of fun in this one…

  2. Woo Hoo!Love this! You slaughtered both steampunk and enjambment and made me want to head on over to 7-11 before cuddling with The Good Husband. Vivid, entertaining imagery, to say the least.

  3. Indeed, sometimes you don't. But it is such a shame when so little is given in an encounter with another that the mind only allows them to remain a stranger. It is the strong contacts that we remember.

  4. Oh I must disagree… Sometimes the small details of a brief encounter burn a hole in my memory. A small smile, a glance, a scent…The way you wear your hatThe way you sing off keyThe memory of all that… :)I do prefer the stronger contact, myself.

  5. Indeed, but one person may think their gesture clear as day, while the other just walks away. Communication is two way.If someone has the eye to see, it all works, otherwise … good opportunities are often loss.

  6. Well….. that's using your noodle, a wonderful poem that could be a song. Great imagery beautifully stitched together, Rene. Thank you for sharing this.=D

  7. you learned about lovefrom a stripper named Fayby reading her diarythat she left on the train..ha…LOVE that…i bet you can learn a lot by reading a stripper's it's downright honest and raw…very cool

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