Trains full of
coal, rearing
in the deepest
parts of night.
Honking out
their existence,
each boxcar
its own swan.
To receive poetry, fiction and non-fiction like this from escarp on your cellphone, text follow escarp to 40404.Trains full of
coal, rearing
in the deepest
parts of night.
Honking out
their existence,
each boxcar
its own swan.