long since pen and page flirt,
disease develops from travel,
the novel is left without a lover
and the author divorces the pen.
for the romance of the rail
and a new home for days
No home, desiring constant movement
returning to the dirty Bitch that bustles,
The Bitch other denizens talk of seeing,
Coming to see, saving money to do it,
Stopping and taking pictures of Her.
That Bitch is my muse.
And she is a bitch; filthy unlike other bitches.
I will never call it Home.
She’s be my muse for now.
And maybe I’ll re-marry and be merry.