TRAINS AND TROUBADORS

I spent years under trestles and eons under elevator stations on Jamaica avenue in Queens, New York,..a little kid standing under trains,.roar of flying metal,.shaking and thunder,..then i rode them endlessly around worlds,.through holes in universes,..around nebulae and fissures of steam and coal rain in climates of delirium,..and i rode them through nights across countries of horrendous animals with monster tusks, crammed into toilets to sleep when the coaches bled with children and old men sweating and braying in their confinements,,.across plains and levees of purple sarcasms,.through Virginia craters in freezing blasts of soiled icy oceans,.into the pits of Montgomery ,.black as tourniquets and hellish laments of old woman sorrows,..battered, jostled, slammed , ruptured like shaking marbles,..always trains and the flamboyant guitars smothered over my naked torso,.flailing the strings to deafen the trains that crunched my spirit with explosions and rattles,..guitars on trains was my boyhood penitentiary,.. anthology of festooned dreams of joyous wrath,.hurled across dynamite planets and green smoking galaxies,..you see, trains and guitars are cousins of Eden,. noisy transports into the astral kingdoms of the magi rituals of the she mistress of the song.