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Click hereThe less I write the more it evades me
it becomes hard as bending railroad tracks
as lonely as New Year's Eve alone
my vision clouded by heavy fog
despair leaving a dead skunk's scent
poets are an odd lot I think
a throwback to when poems had less to compete
more of an audience
leaving us to be the blacksmiths
on the side of a horse-less road
But I still seek to put together words
in hope that someone smiles
perhaps, for an instant, leaving them
in a different state of mind
and me, a fisherman for feedback!