When I can’t talk to anyone
I like to sit in front of water.
If I have a minute to feel good
I take that minute. I have a cigarette.
I walk into the museum of past lives
and rearrange all the chairs.
This poem is meant to be read
at the bar on a Tuesday
when you’re dehydrated
and not feeling so great.
I want to know you
like a dog touches the wind
with its
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