Acela

“Charlie bit me.”

                                    “Why is this happening?”

“And it really hurt.”

                                    “Is this going to be forever?”

“And it’s still hurting.”

The woods are grey and thinned

Against a rolling sky that goes on.

The suit across from me hides a skeleton

Under little hair and fat, a few credit cards,

Ill-conceived smile designed to continue

The burial process of nervous questioning life

That last saw light in college when high on mushrooms

And wide eyed he splashed

water into his armpits and laughed

In front of his friends as it dripped down

And soaked his briefs.

Now the train is quiet except for the two Cambodian women

Bickering beside us and one of them opening

A can of seltzer.

Gravel, graffiti, warehouses, piles of disused metal.

Stopped chemical trains. Wood chips and cell-phone towers.

What is there in this world?

This morning I almost could not wake,

The dreams pulled me so down as under waves.

I slip over a blue sweater and fry eggs barefoot,

The cold tiles speaking something of life

I cannot quite make out.

The house snores.

I have never wanted to sleep so much.

There is too much time,

I did not even notice before.