I fell asleep in the New York Public library
Probably not the first
I flipped through the pages of pretentious poetry
Feigned concentration
Convinced myself that closed eyes were interchangeable with
Looking down.
I leave money everywhere I go
I tell myself my process is to remember it’s there
It’s to empty my pockets
It’ll go in my wallet
It’s a dollar left out for good luck.
I was told my writing is unoriginal
Probably not the first
I move through the chapters of my life and I'm a cat
Feigned determination
Convinced myself that a room in a metropolis isn’t interchangeable with
The one in my cornfield town.
Still I’m drafting everywhere I go
I tell myself my process is to remember I was here
It’ll empty my head soon
City sounds by bedroom
This is an entry left out for good luck.
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