Train to Budapest from Munich(2007)

Blue shirt against black train seat
-reading paper in German
  helped figure out the mechanism
to no avail.

Without speaking, mute,
  point and turn,
          dipping a foot in
   the water,
Testing, feeling spongy,
                     soaking.

Still maneuvering the black seat,
  & blue, green, and white
         sit idly by.

Wah-cha-cha
  Wah-cha-cha, moves out
again.

Blonde, Brunette, Balding
--types standing by.
Cigarettes smoking,
   coffee steaming,
work has never looked
            so blessed.

Sunflowers cover the magazine's
   being held by hangers.

Earphones in, patiently
     aside an ashtray,
Bag over right shoulder
  opened to pass the
               time.

Lake or river passing by.
Green/Gray at the bottom
   of the valley, in the distance,
climbing up the hills
          with my eyes--
Coming to a speckle
           of white houses
                 orange roof.

Stone, and pastel,
           matte--
Clouds covering the countryside,
Overcasting the villages
    of so many,
minutiae, ants along
              the dirt mountain.

Cemeteries skirting the
        edges and chasing the
               pink to the walls--

The next house
     and so forth.
Lines of living dwellings
  separated
by the vastness that can be.....farms?
    or maybe just grazing land?

Snow in the distance
  spotting the ground--
with trees poking through
  like hair on the neck.

Crooked, cut-down, leaning
                  towards
                    the sun, and lack
                                  there-of.

Cabin surrounded by the shade,
  hidden to the passer-by.

Queer to see such history painted,
  with satellite dishes.
Modern amenities to make
  you feel more at home--
distance me from actual belonging.

Crawling by glass roof, must be
  greenhouses, tennis courts, and
        futbol field.

Red clay matching the pigment of the stones
       sheltering the majority--
          with chimney's one and all.

White rooms, closets,
  floors wet, dungy.

First stop, Salzburg station, trains across
   3 tracks look as tho they're red double
buses, with a green, army green car,
   right next to the window, flashes
of drafts, and worse times.  War times.

Times are now, with oil filling our gullets.
Oil makes the world go round', the world go round'
  the world go round'.

Cleaner air reserved
  for pure of heart, or soul,
     who cares?
                          Actually.