Presently Untitled by Michael Charpentier

I rode the rails for so long, I know these fleeting cedars

and the stiff conductor is only playing possum

(he's eager as I am to surf this country's scars).

twilight trail, whiskey-caboose afterimages fade

around the bend; grinning madly I wave the old

goodbye and bid the new fair welcome.

(I once mistook stagnation for permanence,

and mistook permanence for meaning.)

rocks became sand, and sand became glass.

window panes are both mirrors and portals:

I see myself rolling through the country-side,

I see the mountains were shaped by countless

little things, the trees defined steadfast against

the sky, frolicking with the breeze. They are

content with equilibrium and the fleeting words,

attached with an imaginary spool of string.

(just accept we can’t escape them;

spikes keep these tracks together)

old-time madman, idealistic lost-cause,

equestrian luddite, asinine raconteur:

their words have lost their meaning,

astute scholars of frivolous things;

afraid to see the flower in the dandelion,

afraid to see the pigment in the rust,

afraid to see the land without the map.

(it's o.k. to be afraid;

life's too short for all of us)