10.23.25

the lad was downcast watching the oatmeal drip off a sugary spoon. heavy in some story he told himself. she caught his eye. look! my nail polish. isn't it radiant? the counter story began to take ... can we go to the park? I want to feed the ducks.

10.22.25

wednesday. autumn settles into the bones. I want to be helpful be useful and make you smile and laugh. not so crass and cynically fuming. patience. one thing they cannot take from you is your effort. channel it wisely. brush off the cobwebs. wear yellow. its almost halloween.

ghost train 2025

 

  

by Katya Mills

one

October 

of fallen apples 

bored by worms

 green 

and reddish 

moon

orchards the color

of dying

soon

a locomotive 

emerged from a mist

hauling rusted boxcars

through town

unmarked

like a tombstone 

slate

telling nothing

of a poor man’s

fate

the earth 

trembled 

the spider

clutching 

its web

she rumbled down the rails

across the cemetery grounds

raising bodies from eternal slumber

racking her bones

along the factory 

row

dusty faded

brick and mortar

façades

trailed by packs

of snaggle-tooth

hounds

sparking her irons

with arduous

howls

i came to consciousness

in my bed

the only light

 the wood eating 

flames

the tall windows

holding back

torrential

rains

absorbing

her engine steam

smoke-white

grains

a chilling shrill whistle

dropped to baritone

then bass

drew me out 

treacherously

nonsensically

        to the streets

in my overcoat

shivering

i watched her

go by

the crossings

deferential

somehow

like an invitation

how silent 

the bells 

painted gates 

wide open

red lights

dormant

suddenly 

i felt myself

 edging some 

precipice

one gasp

and

i had taken

my last

my body 

sheet white

fell limp 

in the dirt

snagged like a 

vagabond 

neck ina

noose

i grasped 

these iron rungs

in the wind

with heaving

lungs

oh ghost train

what terrors 

you hold

framing the landscape

in burning 

cold

oh scarecrow

what terrors you seen

hung up 

in cornfields

where the murders

been

someone

please

will you?

light a candle

for the lost

to find their way

through the frost

toll a bell

for the ones

left behind

antifash

 she took a drag so long to the lungs it made good enough ash to cover up and smudge the memory out on early morning city streets with her brothers and sisters white brown black. young. restless. angry. thirsting for a better world. irreverent. antifash 

poetry by #katyamills

come up

the blur of memory laughing with friends antagonized by the enemy falling into low vibration energy we isolate the problem only to discover it's not us we look up to the stars and polish our eyes with our fists tracing the scars on our wrists we come up 

#katyamills