RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition who publishes zines & physical books & electronic books & music & photography & digital art & just generally whatever feels necessary to survive this deluded earth thru Rojonekku Word Fighting Arts survival systems (Version 69, establish 14 Feb 1973). Comments encouraged.

Monday, July 15

local dreams freight yard google searches poem

Charlottesville yard
history of the coal tower, where junkie killed sheltered kid
in the midst of rebellion against upbringing
now that area is cleared cutted
being made ready for progress
condominiums and pedestrian shops
white money is not completely spent
here, just yet

Gladstone yard
I am not australia, bro
poppin’ filter bubbles with new data mined
but I can tell you that Gladstone is quiet
turn of the road town with company houses
occupied by real people
and trains still sit there
sitting, waiting
I sit there sometimes too,
dreaming, delaying
“glad” stone

Burkeville yard
mama mack used to work
at the geriatric hospital right up the tracks
the geriatric hospital is closed
the tracks are not busy
abandoned concrete factory sits there railside
brick rancher family diner still serving
mashed potatoes and meatloaf
southside virginia
gone idle for the most part
but the prison is still busy
in fact, there’s two now
both with shiny fresh razor wire
that money’s still good and flowing
only job listing online is
fork lift operator

Crewe yard
I am not england, bro
how could google’s robotic delivery of details
overlook southside virginia’s busiest
rail yard, where a little
Raven Mack once rode
the bench on an all-star team that was
double eliminated in two days time?
the story of my life, born into
the loser’s bracket,
fighting for another day
every day

Clifton Forge yard
railfan youtubes galore
clifton forge stay busy
at the WV/VA border, coal trains everywhere
once as a young Raven Mack
was courting his birdmate
we “borrowed” a minivan
and drunk drove towards our destiny
though it was deferred
as I passed out behind a K-Mart
in Clifton Forge,
we ate breakfast at a joint
that was trackside
corned beef hash
motherfucker

Moseley yard
had no idea there was a yard
in Moseley, grandparents
lived there, I once worked
housepainting with a crew
of low rider racist rednecks who listened
to nothing but Tupac who lived
next door to my grandparents
apparently
we smoked weed together
as necessary

Belle Isle yard
british motherfucker riding a kid’s train
is the first result, what the fuck google
Belle Isle is a glorious landmark of the depths
and depravities of southern humanity
as based where the river’s mouth
widens and gets hungrier
at Richmond
how many prisoners died on Belle Isle
and how many homelesses still sleep in the bridge
and how many hits of acid did I do on those rocks
making the world looks like Houses of the Holy?

Kinney Crossover yard
not even a town with that name
just a remote yard outside
Lynchburg, headed back to Appomattox
where the Civil War died
back towards Farmville
where fuck man so much dark history
back through Abilene
where my youngest sister is about to birth
another young mack unto the world
in another ragged country home
on through Green Bay Burkeville Crewe
back to where populations still explode
and dreams are still chased
very few of us “crossover” though
but we are fucking people
and we keep doing our thing
against all odds
against all hope
with a “fuck it” mentality

No comments: