A hobo, I sit by night’s campfire cooking beans I have earned by odd jobbing my days. Catch the right boxcar to be off on adventure, but the tracks travel backward as forward and I always follow them home. Watching the Amtrack whooshing on by, again and again, but my mind is too slow and my arm is too short and I wait for the next one to come whooshing by. My dreams follow the downdraft till they drift back to me in a wreath of grey smoke from my beans.
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"I will breakfast from the cupboard where uneaten dreams are kept"
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