Poem #77

Comic book pilgrimage often took me
away from the neighborhood,
across strip mall utopia, paved over fields,
onto the railroad tracks purgatorial planes.It filled lakes of goodness in me
to chloroform the city for a few hours,

wandering the space between here and there,
behind the world.At crossings I passed through reality,

a specter in the windshield view of the living,
Fading into the train track alley to be forgotten, to forget.
I don’t remember what I remember, only moments
where life was left.
Rocky lunar landscape,

broken beer bottles,
twisted metal,
train jargon detritus,
a thin,infinite rectangle of blue sky,
comic book ink perfuming my hands,
fatally wounded by my reentry,
the moments fade.
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