At the River Station’s cafe
we stop w/ a well-comforting hiss

flames shoot out from the broken


Prypiat’s cafe’s served cold
& so are all nameless now
high rise blue tower blue blocks…

the cloud still speaks in violet

cross Lenin Boulevard
cross empire’s faded

the trees are watching still
the trees are still alive…

we stop
the train gets abandoned

the whole utopian dream
utopian mornings ripped out

the cloud still speaks in violet…
sirens wail
& radios crackle
…the cloud speaks through our spirit…

as sketches of urban infrastructure
wilderness rusts the trains…
no life lost
no life here at all

the clouds speak only in violet.

Copyright © 2008 by A.J. Kaufmann. All rights reserved.