Is there an amber alert for thoughts? This thought was here one minute, now it's gone. Someone accosted it. I was at the 7-11 on Sandy. A lurky lurk man in a down jacket and goose feather moon boots has it in his mitts. There he goes. See him over there. Red Honda, 2014, Gold Rims. Set the fog horn out. The thought is gone. it's over the Pacific now, on a ferry. Alaskan fisherpersons may scoop it up inside seaweed nets, heave it in, fifty arms working hard, muscles breaking down, squinty eyes in sunless sun breaks. One hoists the thought into their jacket, inside a pocket meant for secrets tucked next to the heart, they take it down to their room and unfurl it onto the floor. There it rolls around question marking all over the rug. Soggy in its conviction.