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On the AirTrain to Terminal 23, Fort Worth

The boxcar meets the curve
like a lover upon his bipolar mistress—
a brief spooning of two heats,
before departure,
narrated by the warring cold of the universe,
and a dearth of Beethoven.
White is the color of utopia,
of London clockworks against
a backdrop of old dames and mustached Texans
in plaid, a tangerine likeness
taken from the sun—a red rooster
to this pallid Earth.
A child resorts to claws
with the Cubist desert carvings on the wall—
he will grow to pockmark space,
in its nuclear umbrage,
like a snake molting from his suit until nude,
eyes are the engines beneath.

26 May 10

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Very well written. Great job! I love the reference to Kubrick's works! =)
 — unknown

 — psychofemale

Thank you, psychofemale.
 — Sequiturist

Love it!!!
 — unknown

Look at you Seq-- pulling out the talent!
 — mandolyn

hmmm.....very Space Odyssey...
 — unknown

I don't entirely understand it...but I can tell that a lot of thought was put into it. Good job.
 — unknown

thanks, unks! =)
 — Sequiturist

 — unknown

Still one of my favorites. Thank you for sharing this. [=
 — Sequiturist

this needs a quantoom boompfh...
; )
 — fractalcore

Simply wonderful.
 — ssensory

So much depends upon, the apparition of a rooster, scuttling across the silent floor, of a wet black boxcar boxcar boxcar.
 — OldShoe

I hate that airport.
 — OldShoe