"John built a house,
then the house was building John."
Pyotr Mamonov


You ever see commuter trains depart?
Conductor in a top hat, barndoor back,
steel-cord arms. Like an amputee
based on a wheeled cart, he swings by,
grappling with seats.

To allow air conditioning
to improve gravity of the situation.
windows locked out a pretty blond head,
on the platform, her hair, a summation of light.

From Dawntown onto Evening Kills,
he made my way home. Home
built like me, proud maker
of his owner. Traincars are
presumptions of home, I have seen

two of them running near.
Faces in a string, each, his own aquarium,
do not spill or spoil, don't add salt to an injury.
Flat in a seating arrangement, drab dears,
(some flowers!)

Probe focused on the center pole,
that did reveal, a hanger on
imagined him for speaking my bubonics.

Train travel, what a simile for all.