train station by Peter Schwartz Augusta, Maine www.watchtheeye.com loyal to the point of vertigo; I clutch my talisman of miscellaneous and try to remember it all. (names, dates, locations)   the smoked-in, the boxed-out, the fly- by-night, the cut-away, the poor excuses for beacons that became more than their names, dates, locations.   nervous passengers pass along semitic cigars to celebrate their bicentennials; their peepholes into the infidel's distant lounge of reasons.   I try. loyal to the point of vertigo; I clutch my talisman of miscellaneous and try to remember more.   the tuned-in, the bottled-up, the drown- ing-in-motion, that seem to collect like underground wings dipped in white gasoline, a few hairs away from their own lethal nutrition with a taste for years.   a cemetery pause in clay hardens into never fever, and teaches its tired formula for winning the deal that includes a witness relocation program   no names, no dates, no locations.

(photo by Betty Curtis)