All night I travel, in a dream…
asleep since midnight - plus sixteen.
A ghost train’s whistle, softly drawn
through orange-black at cusp of dawn.
The phantom locomotive chugs
with each and every stroke,
then crests the hill, going faster still,
churning out black ash and smoke.
From this smoke cloud falls a raindrop
though some might disagree,
say it’s called a devil’s teardrop,
but knowing...
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