tipper tat
2009/01/01 in poems
tipper tat
by tanner brockwell
tipper tat
padded and soft
steps in the dark house
in the cold night
the tiny echo and thud
awake in the late
blueish and tint
the watching night
that ride upon the silver
parallel and sublime
the rails spiked in tight
and the wheels kachunka again
the hills are slipping away in the dim
the frame shudders with passing wind
blows through the town
and out again into the wild
the bottom falling out
from mild to chill to cold
the air is stirring and the air is bold
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