Slow Train

by Andrew Arnett about a year ago in surreal poetry

Poem

Slow Train

Toxic factory spewing chain smoking ashes in

your face.

throw a wrench into the machine and see

what happens.

fun times in the field of land mines.

it was another horrible wall in the face

but with a little Thelema we can get anything done.

a problem is a problem until we smash it with

hammers into a little

tin robot that

speaks and dance.

I’m happy sitting in the Target drinking a 7-11 coffee and

watching the trees dance in the wind.

a prelude of winter in July.

the calm before the anti-storm.

the slow train turned

around and

headed south.

surreal poetry
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Andrew Arnett

Freelance writer living in Brooklyn, NY.

See all posts by Andrew Arnett