The Train's Red Spine of Goodbye
I would believe in place,
but I am at home
in this upholstered bullet of homecoming
and abandon,
vagrant through guilt's
small station.
My face in the window weds condemned
attractions: warehouses of daylight
gone obsolete, yards in thrall to a sallow weed.
True to the element we rise from,
I have studied to be an eye
of difficult weather. I have made my mouth
a crucible-how to put this? I have fallen
in love with demolition.
A dozer pushes its yellow crescent
behind a ball of black earth and brick.
You held me, knew me like glass-the lie
of a liquid country cooled,
not made solid. If I were a monk,
I would be the wandering kind.
Lord, runaway One, shunted
Planet -- drag me. Make me
inert with a quiet
core. Break my heart.
Dolsey Smith recently received his MFA from Washington University. He lives and works in St. Louis.
In Posse:
Potentially, might be ... 
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