Railroading

There across
the intersection:
the formerly hailed,
a real somebody in this
town, ain't you heard?
Spare me a feeling
or speak up, we
all go home
in the end.

There's lines
to get in,
sometimes,
and sometimes
there aren't, but
I haven't detected any
pattern, or social
underpinnings,
Q'ed up like the Sphinx,
and on the other side,
a view much the same,
to the occurred, unimpressionable
for lack of a better context,
vivid flights of recollection,
if you can trust what you remember
these days and nights, eternally waking up
as if from a dream or such, as if,
and on the other side,
well, he says,
don't blink,
or else, I say,
and there is the sky and it's open, as
unoppressive as it's ever been.
You'll see it all again for the first time.
And that's where we'll get started.

All the ships at sea

There have I seen
my disappointment,
or hope,
weary and vacant,
expectations
as much much less
on this journey, witnessing
blank, blank towers through the fog
and Nebel,
hovering,
hawking,
and we're somewhere between the two
if I could only have the stillness
to figure this out,
please.
Oh Galilee,
no longer a place for the living,
even receded this far,
still a tomb,
you wait for us.
It's the humility
that will do us in:
God just wants to be impressed,
isn't it?
There's tricks
and
tricks.
If I am to succeed
then,
successor,
set it all adrift
and
convince us otherwise.