R(double)/You Station

Third rail sleepwalker, footwork that defies the charge. Ghostwritten goodbye novella, never even glanced at by the name on the spine. Everybody at once unaware of the gathering teaspoons of reason and reasons and rain. No survivors; no remains but for the glow everywhere, wholly dimming any dawn tomorrow. Solo dance that splashes the rain and carries the current to them all. Sleeping &/or walking, or talking, or making love, or finely chopping basil, or up late reading, or up so early waiting for the first run at our station, so named as our station by crafty initials. From my doomed dancing slumber meant only to maybe martyr me and disturb the morning commute for you and just you, me and the rail and the rain brighten everyone in town, the charge coursing through the streets and down decorative fireplaces and up stairways and handrails, through sockets and ear buds and skillets and e-readers and bicycle chains and doorknobs and faucets and silverware, finally but immediately reaching and alighting each citizen and visitor in the city, hometowners like us and even those just passing through. A single act of dreaming showmanship instead making me the instrument of unprecedented urbanicide. Everyone lit up like one last lonely New Year's Eve.