pozzolana and the train ride

dust mottled steam bulbs lazily out from soot-crowned stacks in the distance
as we pass a dry-laid stone prison.
concrete hoppers belch forth quantities of sand and lime
as we pass soft wet foundation walls bristling with rebar
like the cilia of smokers’ lungs.
the horizon bobs drunkenly, narrowly avoiding the matriculating cloud cover,
as we pass small busted out-buildings, compressed into the large aggregate gravel,
locked like knuckles.
bridge trestles weep iron and flake like brittle lepers
as we pass dredge ponds, repellent and teeming.
the crumbling ruin of industry lopes by,
as I laugh through my mariner’s teeth.

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