Walking to the Hotel
I pondered existence–wished for a stray car to POP over the curb,
taking me out in several seconds. 3, 2, 1 dots arranged on a sidewalk,
shot like a loaded gun. Roulette amid little daisies and chalk outlines
of hand-traced turkeys. It’s not a sidewalk really, more of a shitty little
footpath next to University Ave.
We climbed muddy tire treads avoiding cappuccino puddles,
I looked into his and knew everything was going to be alright.
Filed under: Poetry, Reality | Leave a Comment
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