The Children of the Road

I've had conversations with people who understand what I'm talking about, so I'll write a post about this. There are poems I see that, although may not be *good* poems, or stir any emotional core in me, I see poems that are *written* in a way I would like to write. The...equation is there, I would just like to make the substitutions my own and create a whole new poem. The logic is there. The steps from a to b are there. But the whole poem may not succeed. I like those poems. I like to keep these poems around, work with them. Wrestle them apart and see how I can get them to tick. This is one of those poems, I think:

Highway Barns, the Children of the Road, by Kenneth Koch

Amaryllis, is this paved highway a
Coincidence? There we were
On top of the fuel bin. In the autos
Dusk moved silently, like pine-needle mice.
Often I throw hay upon you,
She said. The painted horse had good news.
Yes, I really miss him, she waves,
She pants. In the dusk bin the fuel reasoned silently.
Amaryllis, is this paved highway a
Coincidence? My ears were glad. Aren't you?
Aren't you healthy in sight of the strawberries,
Which like pine-needle lace fight for dawn fuel?
The white mile was lighted up. We shortened
Our day by two whole tusks. The wind rang.
Where is the elephant graveyard? She missed the pavement.
A load of hay went within speaking distance of the raspberries.
Overture to the tone-deaf evening! I don't see its home.
Prawns fell from that sparkling blue sphere.
The land is coughing, "Joy!" Hey, pavements, you charmers,
When are you going to bring me good news?