Train Song.

The window slides along the landscape
Like a lost man dragging a picture frame
Across the green heart of the north east

I am sitting, facing backwards
And as a result I can only think about
What has happened.

Tomorrow there might be loud discussions,
I might go and buy pots and pans.
I might sleep in all day.

I can’t decide, it’s not my decision.

But wait, there’s more:

Two nights ago I confessed a love
And was ashamed.
Last night I was ashamed.
Today I am ashamed.
I might be ashamed tomorrow,
I can’t decide.
It’s not my decision.

But wait, there’s more:

There is a blonde girl on the train, but she is no help.
There are two boys on the train, but they are no help.
The train and its tracks help me some,
With the space they put between my shame and me.

That is the space sadness fills, but there is only so much sadness.
It will be stretched thin and there will be space for happiness.

But wait, there’s more:

There are spaces between the trees outside the window.
Maybe there are trees between the spaces, and sadness only between the spaces.

I have called her three times.
Maybe she is with another man.
Maybe she is crying.
I don’t want that, but I can’t help thinking about it.
I will call her again before I am done writing.

But wait, there’s more:
I have seen one thousand houses and I will see one thousand more.
None of them are my house, none of them are her house.

But wait, there’s more:

I am a man with a face of great concern.
I am a picture of shame in a steel frame,
Shooting across the green heart of the northeast.

It is a traveling exhibit,
The fastest in history.

But wait, there’s more:

When I go to sleep they will build a museum around me.
It will be all the explanation I can manage.
They will build it next to the other ones,
Whose frames are now empty,
Because I am on permanent loan.