Trans Siberian

The charm of a train that never stops, it always stays with me.


Orange fields, open moons, a country open wide, through a window, before the viscous sea wild.


Far away, underneath a thunderous sky,that builds rolls and falls beneath, Into August raindrops, shining rails that run away from the windowsill.


Endless distance.


Honesty lost in the trees, rolling East into the sunrise, awake from a revolving dream.


Of the touch, the meaning, a shared premenition, The moon, the stars, the horizon, the sun.


That rises into a bloodshot watery sky, tired of a journey, that’s forgotten its concept of time.

(August 2007)


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