More Poetry Outtakes

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You're down to nothing now
but wet matches and dead tickets.
Last night you slept in a shack.

Today you follow a railroad track,
flaunting your indifference
like a peacock's tail,

as half-remembered faces wail
platitudes or spit conundrums
from the I Ching.

You'd give anything
for a cup of coffee,
some whiskey or dry socks.

as the roar of traffic mocks
your freedom. Is it possible
you were born for this moment?