Steven Federle Poems
Blue days race
to starry nights.
to panting dreams.
Power is brief.
The mounting sun
with youthful strength
lusts for noon’s brightest heights,
but ennui runs deep and gently receives
the sun’s fading fire,
night’s growing pyre.
The Capitol Corridor moves heavily through the dark,
crossing the thinly guarded streets, blaring, berating
impatient drivers waiting for flashing poles, sparking
their rage as they glare at watches. The ground shakes,
rolling earthquake, Cyclop's eye, headlight throbbing, crushing
bright straight rails, pounding diesel relentlessly hauling
into no-man's land, receding rails guarded only by brush
and grassy grade and two white wooden crosses, with a basketball
and a balloon for