Through past/present/future, the Oriental Express still clatters,
bending time, space and everything else that really matters.
The eclectic, co-mingled aroma
of Turkish coffee, French onion soup
and spicy Kung Pao almonds,
wafts through the observation deck,
stinging the ornamental eyes
delicately carved into the interior bas-relief.
blinking wide open,
pupils melt like hot candle wax,
dripping onto toes tip-tapping
alongside the steady music beating
from off the iron bones spinning 'round below.
Barely, just barely,
they hear the yardman's migratory yearnings
as he switches the tracks of thought -
so mesmerized they are,
by the moistened, black boughs
speeding past open windows.
Pale faces dangling from the laden branches;
strange, intoxicating fruit
so comfortably close to fingertips,
their spiral prints bending time, space
and everything else in-between that really matters.