Fragile Freight

Her mouth flickered, sharp as razors

across the glass window

clouds rolled in in victory.

Snowy rooftops filtered past and

chimneys coughed a stormy blast.

Simple folk dwell within

golden shadows hide their sin.

The panic in the city lights

sweep her eyes at the fringe of night.

Red ribbons run through her pupils,

it’s alright – the moisture on her cheek

doesn’t mean she’s weak.

She feels dizzy in the moving cabin.

The conductor and she are alone,

staring out at the city’s bones.





Do Not Wake the Glittery Bones

The road is steep ,

lined with tiny bones.

All glittery and cold.


If you look in your rearview mirror before the ascent,

the last ice shavings are welded

to the tallest pine tree.

Go slow, up the road.

The tiny bones are sleeping, but alive.

Whisper a lullaby with rubber tires.

Do not wake the glittery bones.

The road guides survivors who wait.

The road takes the blame.