The frieght Each branch bowed lowly by the clinging white snows a shriek of an owl winging across the silvered hedgegroves in the distance the train whistle sounds and the whipping wind blows. Somewhere long ago I ran with ruffian comrades along nights like these in the hill country of Montana?s freights running along at ease we caught the reefer cars in the starglow of the whitening chilled air and were whisked away by skewed time to the hungered land made bare The brown skinned Mexican taken from his corner of sun baked earth a glint in his eye between the clacking trains cry peering out from his dirge. The coal black from Tennessee with the hacking cough and ancient face thin and minute against the expanse of sky the last of a dying race. All of us rolling onto nowhere from future to future we fly some destiny made by us in clocks set in motion ages ago grasping at futures unfound as we ride into the wind and starglow. The thin gray light of morning peering into the eyes of foxes like us jumping off before the next stop, bellies empty, hands hardened clothes gruff. The waitress in the coffee shop I knew her warm mouth once hers and mine a fleeting chance like the wind blown sage her husband returning in the night to steal from me my one bright treasure returning me to stone and cold and lines on a page Now the body worn by a century of age the roads these eyes have seen the lines burned into each page the love, the hunger, once held like grit in the teeth fall louder now than these snows of another winters season start along the forsaken roads of the tried and wearied heart.
Gary Esposito's Questions:
How can i create better continuity in this poem.
This piece needs work its just a draft but the experience is dear to me so i want to keep the ideas in it.