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Microstutter
Sometimes I talk
And the words don’t flow
Quite right.
Like I queue
Too many syllables
But the vocal bandwidth’s
A bit too
Tight.
A sputtering train
Chugs along cluttered trails,
Forward
As dictated by its rails.
Fails
To do so expediently
But ever obediently
Tackles the slog
Through the night.
Graffiti’d boxcars
Clump and loosen,
Bumpin’, bruisin’
Their way to station.
Be patient
Through the fog
And you’ll make out the light.
Upbeat Folk Song
You have much self-clarity and have created
a beautiful poem, flowing progressive language
and an absolutely masterful metaphor... Woo!
I am a glad passenger on this triumphant train.
bananas are the perfect food
for prostitutes