Along the edge of why

Along the edge of why

Along the edge of the tracks

they stumble as 

crumpled files

complex mess of numbered limbs

death marched through 

the frozen forest 

Along the edge of the tracks

their stumble - specter

lurches searching still 

screamed questions burning

in the long limbed trees

answers no class will ever

resolve 

the why of stumble- 

starved- pain - pale

the why of waiting gas

Why

Along the edge of the tracks

the shunned stumble by

good people who rode beside 

good people warm and comfortable 

rumbling in moving trains

seen as flashes of dream in

clacking windows

Now 

so long-later 

vapors rise 

still - 

and compassion's

lie - lays languishing

in the

rustle of wind

in the stumble

of sadism's march

along the edge of 

other looping tracks

where some stumble

and some ride

with blind eyes

watching the rushing 

scenery 

still

as others ask

why?