American Sentence XXVII
Rails hum, hiccupped by ancient rusted bolts, the poet picks up her pen.
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Rails hum, hiccupped by ancient rusted bolts, the poet picks up her pen.
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Nice rush here. Ginsberg would be proud.
Thank you!
“hiccuped by ancient rusted bolts” — I’ve riddent that train here in Italy!
Lol, bet you have!
Loving your American sentences.
thank you!
“hiccuped by ancient rusted bolts”
Perfect.
Yes, Ginsberg would love it that the trains are still “humming” along.
May there always be trains humming!
Pam, I’ve been a great lover of trains my whole life, what they bring to us and what they carry away. You capture the sounds of the rails–hum, hiccup, ancient and rusted–in this brief yet power-driven ars poetica. Yes! Ginsberg is smiling.
Me, too, Shelda! Trains hold great movement, a good container for a poem, yes?