Make Like A Train, Take Tracks

This is escape
(or so we'd like to believe) –
taking the train through nowhere
and reaching now here. We'd hoped
for such a scape of waste
land, where the sun gutters
from the sky, and our footprints measure
not distance, but scope. Where, other
than the echoes of electric exoskeletons,
hoarse codes from broken throats,
the world is mute. Colourless.

When I talk of a landscape,
I speak of this silence:
this space, this time,
and how it means forever.
An emotion bled-out,
compressed -
under snow,
under duress.

* * *

I wrote the majority of this on the train back to uni after one of the most surreal weekends ever. Whilst feeling all insubstantial and disembodied and unreal, we passed through a mini snowstorm. You could just see the pylons looming out of the white like the imprints of skeletons on fossils.

There's nothing like nowhere to get you back in the here and now.