run ons and [fragments]

When Mookie talks of trains that moan of phantom hunger, I think of you.

But do not be mistaken, for you are not that train. You are the train expressly slipping through unseen tracks. Eluding so fast, preventing me a sight. What I catch, if I catch any, are the howls. The sound of all that rifles through and does not stay. And in the nights of sleepless anticipation, and the mornings after of defeat, I hear your howls again. Only fainter. Only signaling remoteness. 


And alone in the platform that binds us, I fear that I have once again missed the train.