Our Man in Europe, dave Delacroix.....STRANGERS on a Train
dedicato. Jenny and Turkish.
Strangers on a Train, a COMMUTE. Drab Bronx skyline, outta New York-s Grand Central, hugged-Panic all the way to Westchester, rush hour, don-t mean a thing! Except for that GLOW, reverberating, in your EYE. THAT one, not THAT one! The OTHER one! Not doused by Virtue, Custom or Transportation which, in an hour or so, showered, refreshed, awakens your inner desire...to KILL all U know.
Strangers on a train, UN-speak ably-righteous, that wrangles the gulf of loneliness, beckons-parting lips, like Strangers, a face U longed for, FORGOT, then re-fresh ed, U once knew! U KNEW!!! Who MIRRORS the flash in your in-sight! Who claws at the Neon, the clothes, the Gig U wear.. WHO decides your despair!!! The Train is shunting, rumbling, stumbling, a zillion miles from the scent of a perfume, a past, some THING that was meant to last...
Stranger on a train, tugged between distance and longing, the longing U felt, or perceived, when U commuted home.
c.2019. dave Delacroix. Scholls House, Truro, Cornwall, U.K.
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