Fleeting stations

through which all things must pass.

Trains mercilessly invade

plans carefully laid,


like tangents in transit,

you forget where they connect,

waylaid in this depot

with barely a moment to reflect

that thoughts and emotions

are only outposts along the tracks.

Drawn from out of cracks in the earth

like an expectant birth,

the womb bulges,

stretched to the till

everything emerging from tunnels,

like insects from an anthill,

into the rythmic enigma of change

that you’ll attempt to arrange

into a coherent design.

There is a stationary map

where the motion gets trapped

in the riddle of its lines.



grave schoolmaster

correcting with sticks,

confronts the nervous with ticks.

The pressure to decide

when to move

when to abide

by an almost religious form,


The mechanism’s in place,

the dominant figure

in this transient theatre

is the clockface.

Schedules shuffle

with spinning metal

voices rattle off another destination

to numb ears conditioned not to question,

weary to respond in turn

and form lines.

All are locked in their own depot,

void of context and without bearings,

amorphous and at the same time unique,

strung out on the in-between

they wait to be transported somewhere new

in the waking dream.

Waiting to be transported by one bullet

shot out of a chamber shrouded in steam.


Catch the melancholy sparks of fleeting sunsets.

Time no longer lingers

but grips with twisted fingers,

uprooting the moss that grows in-between.

There’s a scent you associate

with a clinging taking hold.

Words and feelings

unfold at the binario

so you go

into a life dwarfed by infinity.

The sky, like a fallen mirror was the sea.

The clouds were shattered pieces of memory,

even times the machinery

had you pinned,

you always knew you’d win in the end.

Wherever restlessness puts you

must begin from this depot.


6 thoughts on “Depots

  1. j4n says:

    Reblogged this on ayaladn.

  2. j4n says:

    Your verse, Domatkis, is unforgettable

  3. interesting piece. like it.

  4. luranabrown says:

    Very compelling writing…the depots of the mind: distraction, over-analysis, inspiration…these are depicted so creatively and with profound insights. This is a poem that will stay with me because of its brilliant metaphor.

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