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bullet train

hanging on the words
with baited breath
but none hit the mark
they’re just making holes

the winds whistling through
the gaping wounds
none of which is surprise
only humdrum and
everyday noise

spiralling ever deeper
drilling and cutting
tearing down the screen
that hides behind the sounds

revealing empty
nothing there
the light gone
the colour bled out
grey and without taste

              citrus
              floral
              sandalwood
              and blood

spirits of another world
no sensation
no touch
no feeling

stagnation
and petrification
the next stops
on the line

the emergency break
long rusted away.


© Sybille Sterk
Do not copy or publish this poem in any way, shape or form without my written permission.

bullet train

Sybille Sterk

Joined July 2009

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 20

Artist's Description

Poem… just appeared. :-)


MCN: C9T2A-7CSML-5VG7W

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