I was out wandering recently. Lost kind of. It was cold and early. I went looking. Here and there. I was sight seeing. What did I hope to see? Some beautiful words. It's been a long time and I haven't encountered them so I was listening too. To neon and the clamor, the jostle. Signage. At a museum I found bits of stuff. I wrote it down. In the city I heard people talking about the usual. The usual flew out of their mouths, you know, where to eat, work. I guess I hoped to find revelation but that didn't happen. Which is fine since I'm not going to the AWP, where there will indeed be revelations. I then got to thinking about Emily Dickinson. About her life as a loaded gun, which seems like the way it goes when you're wandering.