How far is it?
How far is it now?
The gigantic gorilla
Of the wheels move, they appall me —-The terrible
Of Krupp, black
Revolving, the
Punching out Absence!
Like cannon.
It is Russia I have to get across, it is some was or other.
I am dragging my
Quietly through the straw of the boxcars.
Now is the time for bribery.
What do wheels eat, these
Fixed to their arcs like gods,
The silver leash of the will ——Inexorable.
And their pride!
All the gods know destinations.
I am a letter in this slot!
I fly to a name, two eyes.
Will there be fire, will there be bread?
Here there is such mud.
It is a trainstop, the
Undergoing the faucet water, its veils, veils in a nunnery,
Touching their wounded,
The men the blood still pumps forward,
Legs, arms piled
The tent of unending cries ——A hospital of dolls.
And the men, what is left of the
Pumped ahead by these pistons, this
Into the next mile,
The next hour ——Dynasty of broken arrows!
How far is it?
There is mud on my feet,
Thick, red and slipping.
It is Adam's side,
This earth I rise from, and I in agony.
I cannot undo myself, and the train is steaming.
Steaming and breathing, its
Ready to roll, like a devil's.
There is a minute at the end of itA minute, a dewdrop.
How far is it?
It is so
The place I am getting to, why are there these obstacles ——The body of this woman,
Charred skirts and
Mourned by religious figures, by garlanded children.
And now detonations ——Thunder and guns.
The fire's between us.
Is there no
Turning and turning in the middle air,
Untouchable and untouchable.
The train is dragging itself, it is screaming ——An
Insane for the destination,
The bloodspot,
The face at the end of the flare.
I shall bury the wounded like pupas,
I shall count and bury the dead.
Let their souls writhe in like dew,
Incense in my track.
The carriages rock, they are cradles.
And I, stepping from this
Of old bandages, boredoms, old
Step up to you from the black car of Lethe,
Pure as a baby.
