The Friday Night Train

In less than 2 hours

I’m on another planet,

Where mermaids walk on land

And sugar is salty and sour,

Where witches bask in the moonlight

And offer you a taste of their

homemade cigarettes,

As they stare out

into the middle of nothing

Wishing their black hair would turn gray

Like the ash that falls from their fingers.

It’s a land where kisses taste like oranges

And vans are made for fucking.

Bathrooms are for board meetings

And the living room turned dance floor is salvation.

The walk to Food Lion

Is a pilgrimage

And hookah pipes

Exhale something sweeter

than oxygen.

Sweat is an elixir

And we remember

everything that we forget.

Friday night trains

That glide and gently bump

down the countryside

Take you to a place

Beyond the shadowy

outlines of bendy trees,

Where all your flaws

Sparkle shiny like chrome.

Your scars glitter like stars

And demons and angels

Worship the same way,

Praying in time to the rhythm

That pulses through our veins.

In less than two hours

I have been whisked away

On the Friday night train.

Not too far from home

But close enough to escape.

To run and cry and play

With imps who grin

With teeth that glow blue

And angels who turn dust

Into moonlight.