It’s all just a train car, sitting alone in a
station, going home after
crossing the first line, finding the
little, tiny, unpaid-for
fatality you knew to be in there
all along
it’s the minute of
the hour you approached out of
the single red walled
stall in a station
and heard the inevitability of it
all while licking your wine-stained teeth
showing off the bones
pushing through the skin
of your back and
with misanthropy in an
unpaid-for glass.
It’s just all just a train car, a walk with
the kind of coat that only
the wrong sorts of people wear at
these times in the morning and they’re
picking through wastebaskets that will
follow you home even when you
try to run
But it just keeps going keeps swelling and
growing like a train car that’s
brimming with the
romance of everything between the
confines of your skull

A pen, a page. All it took
was one day

~ Sarah Miniaci

Sarah Miniaci is a 20-something writer based in Toronto, ON, where she dropped out of university to live in the heart of the nightclub district and play tambourine into the wee hours and has a tendency to think too much about everything. Her poetry has been published in Xenith and Word Catalyst, and she has recently completed writing her first novel. She is co-founder and co-editor of Burner Magazine, which will be launched September 1, 2010.

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