peel the remains

the morning whistles from the old steam engine dream in the still quiet field of green the trumpet traveling sings it echoes reminders of silver time on spike driven rails reflecting golden upon cottonwood river bridge trails amazing weight in a fury of steel power force the heat melts coins in a pancake flour source I used to imagine it sending me over the sea where I would meet great heroes with swords perhaps in china or upon other gleaming shores before we flew in the planes of insane speed the train would peel the remains into dust raining the cargo onto uncovered trucks holding the hobos dangerous journey road in the rattling boxcar advertisement load the heavens would open or flood towards stars counting and searching the names of the cars