The brain takes over the mind.

It rides the rails but produces nothing,

Seems like there’s no one on the train,

But the seats,

And the smells

And the dreams.

Where is this train going?

What is this pen doing?

Chugging down the track.

Hoping for a passenger,

To read.

To see,

And feel.

The bumps on the steel.

The grooves of the seat.

A station to deport your story.