Along the circuits of the body, trains run carrying their load of minerals and waste, constant electricity, surpluses of sugar, salt and bile. As the body wears down, they run on schedules that won't always stay consistent—they'll need repair, replacement, a slick of oil, a suturing. You feed the body oranges, bread barely streaked with butter; beans, onions, and soup. But sometimes in the night, you remember those stops open 24 hours selling beer and ham sandwiches, wheels of cheese, slices of cake drenched in cream— everything gleaming in cool refrigerator light.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
