din din the din again awakens within opossum’s impossible
sleep who who who off course assume he’s just fakin’ it
come rumbling down Mariposa Hill on steel skates nailed
to two-by-four a narrow but elephantine wobbling thing
a train carrying loads of images (more than Instagram) of pics
not taken (bench flowers, wood windows, alleyway signs)
books browsed but not bought (Merton and Bukowski,
perfect bookends) clickety clack clickety clack the slides fall
into the track and story lights illuminate the cars one night
after another a passenger train book full of water filled pages
the dappled light brushed gravel path below the tall umbrella
flowering rhododendron grove somewhere the sounds
of rumbling water tousled over rough rocks submerged tales
rail cars dome car windows at night simply reflect your own story
when what you want is to read the stars their ingredients in a wok
galaxy spinning with caramelized onions
peppers spinning whiffle balls the train now crossing and switch
backs aside the can’t-make-its-mind-up river down river tracks
and the railroad tracks a fretboard of rail strings wound tight
miles uptrack put your ear to the rail you can hear chords
clickety clack clickety clack don’t look back don’t look back
train train coming down the track arpeggios
but you “forgot to remember to forget” and the train
brings it all back home in the kitchen with old tooth
making french press coffee in a 10 gallon drum
walking in circles circle of fourths and slide shows
just to pass the time walking down the line offshore
in the distance the library of parisian bold coffee cafe
The Coming of the Toads 