Train Through Nebraska
Train whistle draws its inspiration from the trill of endless insects Summer night accordion, tin pipe, flute enough to float the blood from heart to head and back again. The heat is the most and the crickets are least, and through it all, the locomotive, stretched taut silver, strains against steel rail and contour and knock-kneed sound, to crush another mile beneath its wheels. From darkening berth, the night’s forensic, a shrillness here, a click-clack there, evidence gathered to implicate field and sleeper in the distance gained. Farmers wave. Children pedal. Russet hills just are in...
Read MoreIt’s Hell in Here
I climb to the top of the high tower, peer down at the bucket of water below. Yes, I could dive, down, down, down, into those few inches of liquid and survive. But the daredevil adventure doesn’t say enough about me, so I descend the ladder to the disappointed sneer of crowds. Same with the thin wire stretched between skyscrapers. Oh I could walk across it all right, on one leg if I had to. And riding a barrel over the falls… as easy as driving to the corner shop for bread. Jump canyons on my motor-cycle… not a problem. Dive through fiery hoops… with my eyes...
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