Poetry is
a freight train
that I am forever
trying to catch
an empty boxcar
rumbling by
whose murky corners
are ripe
with fugitive phrases
waiting to be plucked
from their
darkest depths
I want to hobo my way
on a transcontinental
journey between
poetic states
a handkerchief
crowded
with my favorite words
slung over my shoulder
Some days
I love the chase
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