Southwest from the windy city descending on an Amtrak
with a duffel bag holding memories and dreams
I could not carry.  Ditched somewhere along the Mississippi,
all murky I decided to make them new.  It was easy in Amarillo
and Albuquerque where I had nothing more than hunger, a pen,
a pad.  Writing down thoughts in Arizona, the birth of my madness,
bumming cigarettes with no one to talk to.  I got lucky
in L.A., cooled by the Pacific and some California chick still lost
and dreaming like me.