THE TIES THAT BIND THE R5 ARE MADE FROM OBLIVIOUS TREES

I have to save Kirby
This Planet is Beat 
beatbeat
beatbeat 
outside the street is soft
and the sidewalks are locked
and the bridge hangs 
slack from the heat
four drunk kids are failing to free
their 88 cherokee
which stopped just short of shearing off
its top
they want my help but I resist
they call me pinkydick

up on the tracks
the only trains
running this late are me
and the keystone limited
thundering through just before ardmore
sending me scrambling into the infinite
trackside everything with its killed cases
piels, coors and schafers
and me for a minute
fermenting together

it’s clear pictorial
sensorial evidence of the beatitude of this planet
with beatitude here meaning kind of the opposite of
its dictionary self and not rhyming with the attitude

This Planet is Beat
even
in narberth where the rails quiver
where the wires cross and deliver
a few faint transmissions
ornate young depression
inchoate aches of ambition
stranded at suburban

around overbrook the track lights go off too early
and someone calls me
from a black hole in half
a car in the dark
here’s a good place for me to park my half car
someone once thought
rolling up their only window
maybe it started out whole i don’t know
i’m not pulling over 
regardless of the backstory
i’m saving kirby
i’m in a hurry