and when they pulled you from the tracks
your body splayed and split
your chest flushed bright
as it was in life

when they pulled you from the tracks
mindful of your separate halves
your face relaxed
lying flat upon your back

body brushed beneath such crushing weight
stolen in your awkward stage
that you never would escape

the same state that decorates your chest and face
with a scarlet mark of shame
when you'd stutter out of place

and when they pulled you from the tracks
your eyes gone milky white
strangely alive

strange, this would come at the same age
that your mother took his name
and labor paints would collapse her fragile frame

city lights (evolved and off the bay)
from the streets where you were raised
and taught your place
by the stifling younger days
when its all been washed away
with the color from your face
tracks traced (in paint)
(?) waste away