Nomadic spirits,
contemplating the next move.
Jumping on trains,
No permits or chains
Only stories to claim.
Back pack on, no map
Moving forward,
left no tracks.
Short, sweet, with accidental rhythms.
Write on wrappers
To the hum of train track drums.
Inspired by the heat of rays that beat the cold of
being told that:
Head strong in this journey was uncertainty untold.
Nomad hearts know what’s up with the other
Whose bohemian hallucinations
Laugh at bordered stations.
Squares, and bold lightning stares from those
Consumed by glares of normalcy.
They both share a look of the utmost reality.
Crows fly and crow’s feet don’t lie from lack of SPV
ties….
And the train keeps chumming…back to the beginning.
Permit or not, chain gang knots and ticking clocks.
Haves and have nots,
the wills and will nots will...will remain to claim
the endless cycle of tracks and trains and
literaries dazed by the inspiration of a ray,
on a cold nomadic day.
You say nomadic day;
come, come away.
come, come away.
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