Peregrination

The clouds float so slowly
White, tinged
Roasted marshmallow puffs
Soft subway cars for the chosen ones

I watch them from the copper sand
My eyes sting when the wind blows
I wait for my train to roll in

It whistles on rusty tracks
Stirring dustscapes on either side
Like the mane of a lion

My skin is golden
I have been layered by the sun
But I travel light

The train pulls up
Comes to a grinding halt

Spit drips from the self-proclaimed angels above me

I board my train

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