The Third Rail
I first felt truth not in its motion
but in the lull of a swing
when it has reached its crest, it rests,
But the swinger in ecstasy is hung
Like an angel on the hope of doom.
On the innocent carousel through the music
of the calliope, I heard as one might hear
the voice of a not-yet-indictable stranger –
the voice of chaos offering sweets and rides.
I saw in the beauty of blind horses
whose screaming neighs were bridled by
The deliberate phantom of graver silences to come.
While still beneath the noble tents of night
I touched the weightless frenzy of all space
And wept at the instability of stars
Strung like tinsel through the treeless
fields of time.
A brave obedient child, I held my tongue.
But I must tell you now
That even through this sweet, cool steel
That fatal magnet hums: mute; still
And begs me like a lover to come home.