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05 Jul 08 Saturday
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a set of rails 22
ethereal
11/15/98
10:08 am
train passes on right,
flutter of broken images
too much like
hallucination to be
friendly.
10:04 AM
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04 Jul 08 Friday
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a set of rails 21
Bubbas and Beaus
11/15/98
9:58 am
tracks in wet fields.
I imagine country boys
in tractors doing donuts.
"Whee-hah!"
------------------------ah, a winnebago.
the clouds seem to be gathering.
maybe there'll be more rain.
maybe the boys will come out again
and put on their show for us in the lounge car,
in overalls, but shirtless.
big hairy nipples hardened
by the cold rain drops.
they'll chew, spit, and holler.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
rocket ship silos.
9:10 AM
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03 Jul 08 Thursday
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a set of rails 20
big windows
11/15/98
9:49 am
the car wit dem
big-assed winders,
a set of rails
stream by in endless luxury
(like a metaphor for lifetimes).
-----------wow, are those sheep?
me and the others here,
we seem bored out of our skulls
but really it's cool,
just mellow to the point of listless.
this is a big country,
spread out, much room for isolation.
you see we've just adapted our
survival to require crowds.
tractor,
ranch truck
(some of us have no requirements).
I have yet to see a pretty woman
on this train.
8:34 AM
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02 Jul 08 Wednesday
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a set of rails 16
lost
11/15/98
9:05 am
I have no idea
how to find the
friggin' dining car
or lounge car.
man, I guess I'm lucky
I found the can.
9:46 AM
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01 Jul 08 Tuesday
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a set of rails 14
observations within/without
11/15/98
8:47am
thinking about coffee
and food
followed by
piss and shit
and the problems
put on by the bounce
of the car.
hopper cars
pass on left.
a child's white socked foot kicks
3 seats up on left.
hopper cars passed
and a brown stretch of land
emerges from their absense:
red sheds,
few trees,
steel bridge.
maybe I should
go ahead to the lounge car
and face the burdens of excrement.
I overhead a game of
"I Spy" and laughter
3 seats up on left.
9:07 AM
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30 Jun 08 Monday
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a set of rails 13
Ginsberg daydream
11/15/98
8:32 am
hiss,
the car hisses
with escaping air.
aside from that
quiet.
outside the train
is a gravel world
set with rails
and littered with junk.
I half expect to look out
and see Ginsberg's majestic
sunflower.
maybe even an older Ginsberg,
fat and naked and majestic,
singing his sutra to its
yellow sun face:
"You Are A Sunflower!"
ah, hiss.
10:15 AM
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29 Jun 08 Sunday
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a set of rails 12
on the train*
11/15/98
8:27 am
the cars sway
(double decker, maybe)
I climbed up to number 16 seat,
watched what could be seen,
then sleep attacked as
stealthfully as ever.
Kansas City, MO.
woke up w/ sore throat,
went down to toilet
w/ my bag.
brushed teeth,
went to spit,
read sign:
"handwashing only."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
treat the morning like a woman.
be cool and let her sleep
a little longer.
*finally, right?
11:34 AM
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28 Jun 08 Saturday
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a set of rails 9
retrospection
11/14/98
1:45 pm
"loath to let spring go.
Birds cry, and even fishes'
Eyes are wet with tears."
--Basho
these past few days
seem so chocked full.
I scrape them
with long fingernails,
press my lips
against their ruddy cheeks.
and the year
and all its brothers
and sister prior,
chocked full.
goodbye fellas,
don't crucify your neighbors.
don't make love to your cars,
make love to your neighbors
and discover how much
the seats in your cars
weren't made for such activity.
and kill the record keepers
or break their fingers
to render them silent.
1:10 PM
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27 Jun 08 Friday
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a set of rails 8
ignore the countdown
11/14/98
1:20 pm
holy:
the silence burdened
by the awe of the
twinkling impermanence
the guard of isolation
--no confessor,
attached to non-attach
wish to pick up phone,
confide with a kindred spirit
not seen since '92 or sooner
send a signal at midnite
conveyed by my lite-brite*,
morse code by the on switch
the guard of isolation,
my favourite spirits
spirited off by their
own disappearing trick
wow, the awe
is burdened by silence
and
holy is
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(they must be relics)
the peanuts retain their shell
they lie absorbed in neglect
twins in pods
by busted guitar pick
so close to my stack
secrets on the floor
--11/14/98 1:26pm
*if this and the last poem seem sentimental to you the reason my lie in the fact that in the couple of days between moving out of my apartment and leaving on the train I stayed at my uncle's house. he lives in my childhood home and he takes very poor care of it. it is filthy and covered with cricket carcuses. it is an uncomforable place to be.
--tav.
10:15 AM
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26 Jun 08 Thursday
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a set of rails 5
circa 3:am (edited*)
11/14/98
corner of elwood and rankin
edmond, ok
couldn't sleep
so i walked to the corner
to sit under the streetlight,
the same one i wrote
"fuck you" on in red magic marker
when i was nine.
the anxiety has kicked in.
I have nothing to draw my
attention away anymore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a cricket is crossing my path,
black and hinged and shiny eye.
he stops before me. he hesitates
then escapes beyond the curb
----------a darling of pure action.
* I removed 4 lines from the second stanza.
8:44 AM
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24 Jun 08 Tuesday
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a set of rails 4
waiting for the predator
11/14/98
1:28 am
Sleep
stalks.
its victims cannot
tell you when
it struck
only when they recovered
2:14 PM
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23 Jun 08 Monday
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a set of rails 1
Last Supper
11/14/98 1:10 am
let's rally together
fill our bellies
celebrate my
imminent absense
pardon me when
silent or hopeful
or staring or joking
or missing or scattered
or lonely in numbers
or confessing
I'll twist my fork
in my pasta
I'll sip my tea
speak nonsense
God isn't in this room
there's nothing here
no faces or voices
no long table, no
fifteen chairs
I see nothing
by seeing
you
12:06 PM
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a set of rails, intro and dedication
Intro:
in late 1998, in reaction to the suicide of a close friend, I decided to drop everything and leave for the east coast. I quit my job, put all my stuff in storage, and left by train with nothing but a suitcase. it began a 2 year adventure. at the same time as this I was inspired by a collection of travel haikus to write poetry before and during the train ride. A Set of Rails was the result--an honest collection of both good and bad poems illustrating my journey and most importantly my reactions--not only was I still reeling from my friend's death but I was deeply involved in introspection as well as studying Buddhism.
I fully intended to publish the collection as a follow up to my chapbook, Poems, but in the end I decided they were too personal for anyone to identify with. instead, I offer those pieces here, in a set of blog posts, without any apologies. I do hope, though, that my readers will feel free to post questions and comments as they see fit. hopefully, in the end, these poems might not be too personal after all.
peace,
ted
dedication:
this is the actually dedication page that I intended for publication:
dedicated to:
Israel, Chad, Aubree, Sienna, Erin (1), Erin (2), Allison, Joy, Ginefer, notalk in fabrics, Delores, Suzie, Andy, Kim, Doc, Skip and Travvis, Tobias, Scott, Erik, Eric, Alice, Dann, Doug, Kenney, Kathi, Karen, Amanda, Kazue, Don, Diana, Matt, Hobby Lobby, James Mathis, Jon, Tony, Joseph, Michele and Leif, Vien Giac Buddhist Temple, Sarge, Phil, Harry, Bugs, Ballyhoo, Lucky, the house on 12th street, Spontaneous BoB, Taz, Brian, Mikey, Elise, The Lotus Center, Mike, James V., Vince, Jerry, Amber, John of the New Orleans Coffee House, Paul of Medina's, The Surreal Patricia, Brent, Jeff, Mark, Damion, "Turtle", Uncle Dave, sjones, and that happy monk at the Thai Temple in Oklahoma City.
Be well,
my friends,
Be well.
11:41 AM
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12 Jun 08 Thursday
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crossroads
crossroads
(edited)*
crossroads,
I brake and look:
the sun is perched high,
clouds at the west wait their turn
seemingly knowing the fire will
fade and fall.
I gently press the accelerator
and begin again.
*this was a much longer scribble written 6/10/01. after editing it this morning, this was all that remained of 8 stanzas.
1:48 PM
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04 Jun 08 Wednesday
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the flittering
the flittering*
the world has too many tongues
licking up the spine of too many backs,
lingering on the spines of
everyone's lower back
--the world knows our untapped erogenous zones
and our bones!
and our bones
stretched out in seedy beds!
stretched out in seedy, lousy, Henry Miller
cheap Parisian hotel beds!
and our bones are getting tired,
miserable from the daily strain
and the bump and grind
and comes the flittering of our nerves
as the headache slips off into
our extremities
oh our bones!
when I wake up
and I look at your eyes,
when I wake up from another sticky hot night
and I look into your 2 eyes,
I see thirty or forty unspoken unimagined horribles,
I see thirty or forty unspoken unimagined unmistakeably
terrible horribles just wanting to push out your worldly
tongue and dive off into the lousy bed and get absorbed
by all the folds of all the sheets
but
you
stay quiet,
your head stays shut
except for those 2 eyes
wishing they could show the world in out
instead of the world out in
and comes the flittering
smoke clumbs up nothing,
etching up
and swims in the textures of the ceiling
--a storm turning
smoke climbs up my face
and I close my irritated eyes,
and I close my fist
through your fingers,
and wish the bolts on the doors
really locked the jagged
fast paced
hustling
pounding
world out,
and wish the bolts on the doors
really locked us in,
really locked us into each other
so
we
wouldn't have to get up,
wouldn't have to get up
and our bones!
and our bones
just don't want to move,
just don't want to have to leave this lumpy
stained lousy bed
just don't want to have to get up
and get seduced by the world
again
*previously published in the chapbook, Burning Flowers, copyright 1994.
9:37 AM
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