poem, poetry, life, death, surrealism, surreal

POEM IN STONE

prim village
but turn over
enough stones

shape shifters, Caesars,
serial-killers

and
at the tiny railway station
connecting nowhere
to everywhere
(all
roads lead to)

what slipped off
the rails
what
dark dreams?
(always a train
in a surrealist painting)

Oh and
there the tunnel

who knows
if there is light

if there
is other end?

something big
once stirred here
dared
a big net
to catch it

people remember, will
tell you,

people forget

what brought them here;
what took them hence