Silent youth with wide-eyed stares
on empty trains to nowhere.
The blood runs cold from mountain peaks
to wash the line with corporeal fury...
And the dead lie on the tracks.
Mute children breathe a rusted kiss
which whispers thought the poppy groves.
The petals fall on snow white banks
to choke the hills in crimson lust…
The dove lays speared on twisted limb
Soft feathers stained with daisy gore...
And the dead lie broken upon the tracks.