GLYNN IRBY

TRACKSIDE PAPERS RISING

I listen to the Doppler change of crossing bells
and the overlapping rhythms of clicking at expansion links.

I hear the drone of circular steel grinding on flat steel rails
and see the vertical spikes of regimented poles passing,
as the curvature of power lines metronomically drop into view
— and rise out again — then drop into view — and rise out again.

Anticipating the path of my travel
I feel the sudden jostle of velocity
and the forward leaf springs absorbing
the minor shocks of space and misdirection.

I sweep through the bracketing clouds of dust debris
rising in the agitated air surrounding the cabin windows
and elevating trackside manuscripts of memory
into the upward lift of logic and my awareness.

I can now recall the curl of your hair like the tight eddies
of warm air breathing beneath our steaming engine
and the smell of its coal fire wafting adjacent
to the floral aroma of your Hungarian thighs.

I recall your mica-eyes as they foreshadowed
the pulsating strings of our future fusion
of trans-atomic electrons. Although I wished,
for a while, we could have propelled to near the speed of light

­ magnetically pulled by the plasma between us
and accelerating on parallel tracks spreading open
from the horizon and fluidly sucking under us
in the electric bed of our sleeper car.

Then we would¹ve been pristine
in the silent brilliance of frozen quanta,
with ordinary life outside our compartment
completely compressing into dimensional nothingness.
 

Editor's Note: This is Glynn's response to a query about the term "leaf springs" as used in this poem: A "leaf spring" consists of strips of metal that are bent and attached at the ends such that the composite of multiple strips can dampen the effect of motion. It is used on cars and trucks, trains, wagons, and other moving equipment. For a diagram of one you can visit  http://www.realtrains.com/carparts.html  The leaf spring is the 9th drawing down (about midway).

IMAGI 14

          rain
sliding down my face
slipping through my
          fingers
raising swift waters to
          the bounds
spilling over the side
     filling up
the lowlands whole
welling up the soul 

Imagi 14 originally appeared in 3 Savanna Blue, from Plain View Press and is reprinted here by permission of the poet.