Ghost train

On the tracks of an old railroad i sat
near the warehouse covered in tags
with the missing doorknob through which i spied
a kingdom of mischief i long to tap
(and I will… in good time)

The tracks were grown over—
long out of use, phantom rails
yet as I sat there in the morning sun
leafing through the halfbuilt cities
and frozen fossils of
my raindamaged, dogeared notebook,
I heard, or imagined, a train whistle;
sensed, rather than saw, the train rushing towards me
(In the timeless atemporality of the implicate order,
all timekeeping ceases, all moments
superimposed upon one another like infinite Photoshop layers;
deliquesced in this “forever soup,” we know
what Vonnegut meant about becoming “unstuck in time”)

Considered fleeing, but stayed put

(“TRAIIIIINNNNN!!!!!!!!” yells Gordy, the lagger, in Stand By Me,
the film which, more than any other,
captures the desolation of myself at age twelve),

braced myself for the oncoming
closed my eyes as the roar of train
and warning whistle waxed from stentorian to deafening,
thought “this could be it…”
gripped the rail with my hands…
one split second from impact…
the train crashes through me like a ghost;
I breathe hugely, & let go