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Crowded (Other) by INTRANSIT

Nineteen gauges lighting up the cab. White and anxious needles making little stabs. Passive indicators show their minute sweeps, the scope of their inspections leaving naught to keep. Nineteen meters tell their stories long I turn the panel down, hearing what is wrong.

ecargo 12-Mar-06/11:49 AM
Very cool. I like your truckin' poems. I like the end rhymes here too. One suggestion: lose the archaic "naught"--just recast the line to keep "keep" (or find another line with an "eep" word at end). The "naught" really doesn't fit the rest of the poem, and the sense is a little squidgy anyway.




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