I want to be a storyteller but first a storyhearer.
I want to be a poet and I want to be a front porch musician.
I want flexibily, room for moldabilty.
Holdability and not too much stability.
I’ve been lied to
but immediately and more intimately
I’ve got to got to keep train-hoppin’.
I’ll never find out where the next boxcar in the yard is heading,
if I keep purchasing my passage from the man behind the counter.
Comfy in the rail car or just barely hanging on?
Take your pick.
I take mine.