In the Train de Luxe

“IT is dangerous to lean out of the window.” No doubt, when meteors shoot athwart the night. No doubt, no doubt; and yet it haunts the sight. I read, re-read this ponderous advice In French and English; play a game of dice With mental clouds through cannonades of hours, With foamless islands legioned with lush flow’rs, Prismatic juicy glades bee-pasturing. “In case of danger you must pull the ring.” A girl arranges a mellifluous grin: Eternal teas and afternoons begin To lurk within the forests of the mind With vividness that cuts it like a wind. And while my nostrils draw the vital air, They quiver to discern the sweat of hair In awkward crevices! Signal d’Alarme Recalls the fact that I am safe from harm. I count, re-count each pendulum and beat. Pardie! the train has swollen in the heat; Freighted with smuts he heaves his metal breasts, Nor heeds the broad and burning moon’s behests. (The moon is lingering and luminous. Mired in a wrinkling silk diaphanous She floats a supple pose upon the air And whispers invitations.) “I don’t care!” The train replies; although his body glows, He is austere as tempest-sifted snows, Pursuing moral dumb-bell exercise To muscle-burst criterion; he defies Flesh and its shuddering spurts of harlotry. Pavilioned on hills of chastity, “I do not care a damn,” the train replies.