A Continuum

A train that takes no journey

but is impeded

as stations pass

concentrates on conducting us

safely, into the brush

Yesterday, the condition

of the table a tray

taken from the Astor,

ready to be burned all

that nourishment now transformed

Now deformed, sand sticks

to the fingers

that lift the pen.

The stamps order an exchange.

How to apply for the job,

appear presentable, take

the test

How they accept

you and you lose yourself in

thinking the job

is yours.

How that nature

constructs poetry

that pours from you

unceasingly, and turns you

on a dais the naked you unyielding

to the process,

the sun weakening, making

an effort to break through.