More Train Dreams

It is very grey outside

and dozens of white ticket stubs stand erect from the tops of seats like prairie flora,

all leaning left as though the wind were blowing.

The violin and windchimes through my earphones invoking a sense of feudal anime.

The intensity of the music grows, a severe whisper,

and I anticipate the man speeding silently through the white bent grasses in hakama, bearing a sword.

But really, it’s New Jersey.

I peer across the tops of the white grasses;

my eyes bear left thirty degrees and I spot the electrical wires and eight-unit cinderblock apartment complexes.

Breathy flute reminds me that I would rather be dreaming of the field, heavy with silence.

The stirring winds call me to dance.

Who am I? The grass? The silent man?

Or am I across the field, waiting for him to put down the sword and rush home?


  1. steelbuddha says:

    How did I ever call myself a writer, knowing you? You’re so good at evocation.

  2. I think the key is to not allow your brain to get involved. Go from senses directly to pencil. Which is why some parts might sound weird or foreign because they aren’t filtered. I have also found that music is often key to setting the mood of imagination. And why I have to *not* listen to certain music while working because I will daydream.

  3. steelbuddha says:

    That’s definitely how you do it. I need to turn off more often.