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Crazy Train
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Crazy Train I Work, home, work There is… Home, work, home There is a groove… Work, home, work There is a groove Runs ‘round my brain… II Trudging through drudgery, A slavish round on auto-pilot – Smile for them all (fools) And caper for them too The capering is for me, To keep from going mad: If I could wear bells And curl-toed shoes, So much the better It amuses me I amuse them: Making them laugh While I watch behind laughing eyes A honed performance so real It’s become reality (so expected of me I expect it of myself) – The charade indistinguishable From the me lurks inside, But sometimes seen clearly By the me cowering behind second mask There is a groove Runs ‘round my brain: Worn by repetitions… III I have an attentive ear, And a need to placate; They love to tell their troubles Knowing I’ll soothe them into decision Tell me anything, I don’t care How heinous, I’ll not judge (being unable to adjudicate my own follies) – I’ll listen as you convict yourself, Helping you choose what you’ve already chosen I have a hesitant tongue, And a shyness of exposure; By the time I’m ready to share my innermost They’ve grown used to hearing surface When I start to reveal myself, No matter how mild, I see eyes Glaze over with awareness the talk is not of them, Interjections abound until the focus shifts There is a groove Runs ‘round my brain: Worn by repetitions, Sides carved so steeply… IV Dark, inky blood Is thrown upon the whiteness, Forming Rorschach patterns It is here I am enumerated, Catalogued, filed in unperused folders Filled with annotated snapshots Less like a samurai committing seppuku Than a teenage girl cutting herself To purge the inner sickness And thereby gain recognition Forensic experts can determine From the splattering The depth of each self-wounding, The weapon used, the force of each blow Or the angle of the cut (even in the absence of my body) There is a groove Runs ‘round my brain: Worn by repetitions, Sides carved so steeply Thoughts cannot escape… V There is a groove Runs ‘round my brain: Worn by repetitions, Sides carved so steeply Thoughts cannot escape The singletrack of my mind A bullet train runs on singular rail, Express the entire circumference Signposts mark the stations: Money, love, ambition, health, good, evil, (hopes, dreams, fears, nightmares, gods, devils) The stops are never made – The train hurtles onward ‘Round and ‘round, Gathering speed as it goes: A juggernaut momentum Heavy with freight It rumbles and clacks; Boxcars jammed with parcels Labeled to Freud and Jung Many thoughts jump off the platforms Seeking a handhold passage, Few find purchase – The tracks are littered With unsuccessful bodies: Dried old husks and fresh, dripping carcasses Covering every tie, and piled in the right of way The train rolls on, Crumbling husks and pulping flesh – The weight, the screaming wheels, the heat of passage All force the tracks deeper into the groove Sinking into the squelchy bed, Each circuit squeezes a further suppuration leaks out into my life For each thought manages to cling, The conductor pulls them aboard And collects a tarnished copper For the price of endless passage In the ever faster loco: The engineer is sweaty and ashen faced, Trembling hand clinging desperately To the deadman’s switch, Praying against derailment |
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