Tracks

These trains look too strained to go backwards, too restrained to chance trackless

too drained to go hack woods, I stack words, lack-lustrously…

These plains seem too faint to feign, the effort required to explain my name explores explosions

again, deplores deployment and shame, implores improvement – sustains has more than stains.

I ask to change the planted, hoping to shape what is granted,

yet while I’ve jumped and landed, started tramping, stamping,

I’ve missed all the trains, and there’s a crashing sounding

because the signals need to be bought, and I can’t tell if you’ve caught the reason that is sought

red between the lines, if we don’t change our tracks in time

if we don’t use the equal sign

if we don’t put some spines in shine

if you don’t stick your eyes in mine

these tracks will wind and grind, blind without a mind,

and I think you’ll find it’s better binded to the kindness

feel some love inside this, then put yours beside it

our journeys stop colliding, start climbing.

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