every night from seven to eight
like the repeated guarantee of a gap
between the train and me
I stare straight ahead I lie down
on the railroad tracks
(my logic takes definite forms)
leaving dandruff on my head
WHOEVER SCRATCHES HIMSELF BEFORE DEATH
WILL LIVE A LONG LIFE
the postman leaps from the ditch with his bicycle
YOUR LOVER HAS WRITTEN YOU
LADY WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?
I tell him everything
closing in
from void to void stopping my name from its fall
I conquer myself I turn aside
under every railroad car my given name
like an inward guarantee
a white scream