trainyard grave-station

outside i hear a screaming train
i wonder where it's going
and i hear the voices
fading in my head
the usual questions:
"has it ever been
much different
than what you love
or who you love
the former all too loyal
and your fickleness
but maybe for your
naked shadow-love
of ghosts
is beauty really
all you love
the most
wrapped up
a hundred years
too late
in Baudelaire's enigma?"

questions such as these
and to be fair
i did a fairly stereo-typical
job
of burying myself
in maybe
30 feet
of numbness
tainting
years of scorching
enigmatic
Baudelairian pain

right now
i just wish
i could jump
that train
wherever it may be going
because i think
most towns
are pretty much
the same to me by now