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The sante fe

04.03.02

Like dead soldiers
the hulls
lean,
and decay
in the Wichita rail yard

their vigor gone,
the powerful
iron Hyatt
wheels
frozen,
their once smooth and graceful
bodies rust

Ragweed
Their
wreath,
graffiti their
eulogy,
decay
and defecation
their
cargo

once men with charged passion
pounding their loins flipped the potent
toggles;
charging
the
plain
with
cars
of
cattle,
wheat,
corn,
lumber
and mercantile
brimmed
for
Wichita

These
corpse
of commerce
valanty
debase

as
hulking estate
of vagrants that drink cheap wine
eat canned sardines
and
measure
the
moment
through
eyes
of
schizophrenia,

and
lay their broken
souls to wander
on the floors
of forgotten
treasure
of the
Santa Fe