---

from station to station with slight variations
seldom a map, and a few roach traps
I always seem to come back
walking the railroad tracks
I sing with every breath in my lungs
with a pack
flung over the shoulder
with poems in a folder
I always seem to stumble back
to carolyn
and all the strange delights there in
my best friend
whom knows all my jokes but laughs anyways
and plays along with my games in spades

this is a toast to my anxiety
and my friend who quells that inside me

-aj little