There are ticket stubs to quiet towns
and cigarette boxes litter the ground.


The TV is nothing but static,

the out of date maps are enigmatic.


A Bible is yellowed and battered,

a lipstick stained mirror is shattered.


The guitar on the bed is out of tune
next to paper plates and silver spoons.


37 text messages go unanswered,

love letters written to poets and dancers.


Peeling wallpaper and flickering lights
would make any sane person take flight.


But in the midst of chaos and decay

The wandering poet will always stay.