fast train

I never can get rid of the long barriers mades of wires, the acid taste of the copper ‘s line and the incessant movement of electricty which feed the train’s rails. The aggression of the doors and the rustling of the metal wheels leaving the platform. The iron breaking the wind and crashed onto the city’s fingers…I still can feel the bloddy tatter of my silenciously screaming heart winding up and gyring onto the rusted pylones of the old town…my hair lock by lock bolt by the window’s cracks and when the last billboards are banished with the arrival of the countryside, I knew it was better to be the ghost in the concrete castle than the salted wound in the horizon. The wind from the sea swinging in my skull throwing the sulphuric grip of an empty coast where the last boat wait for the words to be sent : What will happened to the bones ?