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.