The dug deep hole is dark.
Black, eating candles with
wisps of cool air coming from
not-God knows where,
every match is cooled
before its flame illuminates
this lived-in cave.


*****

I'm hating.
Waking.
Knowing that I'm chaining
myself to a train that isn't moving.
It just sits rusting on an overpass.
Oh decay.
How. Long. Can. I. Stay. This. Way?