My brain is a train.

an AM track.

with plenty of

connecting steel & pin, &

carved bridges w’o trestle, I tell you

cross traffic’s a bitch, but it

coasters along

~flying 6 Flags~

>all of them red; some of them freaky<

in creative

unbelted loop-de-loops.

 
 

Sin City’s Stratosphere.

a plummeting B-line.

a runaway death drop I don’t wake up from in time.

a rush more steep

than Rushmore leap,

it’s 1 ride I can’t

resist–

regardless of risk

(& retching, too)

 
 

Bullet monorail

(with Sea View cars)

non-stop service from & to the station–

nary

its nano-second schedule

a notch 8

on narrow gauge, it’s

a necessary route…

neuroses notwithstanding, &

engineered by heart.

by Karen Robiscoe