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?
