Viewed through blinds, your smoky scents
with your rattling tracks & wheels
passes straight through my brain stem
with the rusty steel that peels
scraps & bolts & coal-black fire,
painted muddy brown & red.
Midnight chugged without a tire
& a million-meter bed.
Sure your ghosts are sure cliché,
floating in their dirty rags;
I’ll ride nightmares any day.
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