Looking for Reason
Reading between the lines
Of old poems and short stories
Found stuffed in shoe boxes
In the crawlspace by the cold cellar
I find myself studying each page
Carefully, pausing over the faded
Words written there, staring
Intently, as if by looking hard
Enough or closely enough
At paper smelling faintly of rot
I will be able to divine what it was
I meant back then, what it was
I was trying to say with my insane
Ramblings and why I felt the need
To scribble them down, then stash
Them away like this; there must
Be some clues here, I tell myself
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