part 2

But then, the windows rattled
And the doorhandles shook. From behind
Hooted forth the midnight train
Arriving right on time.
The train was made of adamantine
Driven by ghosts who never reach their destination
Rumbling on blood-strewn tracks
With no passengers. Yet at midnight, in this courtyard,
Phantom porters disembark
And blow shrill whistles at the skeleton crew.
"Our graveyard is a train station,
Our death a train which never stops..."
This train, steaming, screaming, sightless
Bore down on me like a cyclops, so that i crouched,
And it seemed to me it wailed to me of death.
I leapt behind the garbage pails, frightened,
Past the scaffolding and refuse,
And finally, lay beneath a large red estate agent's sign
That had long since been abandoned
To the elements.
The ghost train flashed by, dispersing.