Michael D. Amitin

amsterdam 3/23

the oldish new grey train like texas ribs
sizzles out of gare du nord
past crackerbox shores
to the opening…

riding rail joys graffiti garden windmills
feel the smooth steel rising, tickling my travel loins
of greenfield days

who wouldn’t know where to go, what to write
on a train

even unvaxed vixens heeding heathens call
who circle the earth blindly
in looking glass jars eyes of a blind blonde man

from a candleit pipe organ aesthetic dear
i woke to ‘loosen the grip’ 
whispered from the harangued lips of cryin’ foghorn freeload
standin on a street corner beneath pink morning clouds
as we blow by in a blackbird wind

sad eye dove can’t win
its got her runnin the grand ol reaper man
carrying his last stand dragon stick
ghosts running in the sand and
she’s hangin on to forever melodies

kid eye blind
what house guarantees immortal-ese
racing trains hither and hather
just a suit that fits
for a housewarming party in the sky baby

you’ll all be together again sad eyes 
no fret let the music begin
before these days peel away your love
like riptorn cheap fishnet stockings

things are bound to turnaround
this run of bad luck
that croupier’s hung up his what’s-up-his sleeve cleats

and the sad, zero-eye angels of the reformation
pasted to marble
ascending the walls of galilee nowhere’s in a heavenly squall
where dixieland swing-blowing trumpets yield to brother Joshua

and outside the foxhole crumpets adorn the green green rocky
road the grass of morning grows

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