I. trains go faster than my brain can think so i’ll be on a train, thinking of something and that thought will be left behind in a small upstate town between albany and new york and that’s beautiful, somehow once i was on the empire service late at night my sister was asleep next to me and i looked outside, at the tiny bright lights i wondered if maybe one of them was you i thought about you becoming illuminated, like a lightbulb except the lightbulb was your body but the train went too fast and that thought was left back in yonkers II. i was on a small train headed west the shadows on the ceiling looked like manta rays, small fish the train made a loud crying sound i thought of a person i had forgotten i missed, in the station i wrote the name down on my hand, so i wouldn't lose it i was looking out the window, the train's tears were falling backwards because we, the train and i, were going very fast and i felt bad for the train, i laid my hand against the cold window slowly, the crying stopped and the train slowed down there was something else there and, that thought was lost.
Michael Doherty is a seventeen-year-old poet from Albany, New York. He has written three ebooks, you saw our cities on a weathermap, they looked close and i will listen to your mix cd and enjoy every song unironically, and oh. He is a member of the artshole collective and the co-founder of igloo house. his email is michael.poems@gmail.com.