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Leaving CC
...you drag it out in a sonata with two other poets ...you wonder if is sonata is something like a sonnet ...you wait for the trip in a heavy blanket ...you share a poem in that very last circle... the very last ...you walk in the rain ...you don't go home, you go someplace else that doesn't make sense to you ...like new york, where people don't know they live on a island (how can you not know when you are surrounded by water?) ...you stay with friends, the wonderful purgatory between family and you ...you freak your friends out by touching them a little too much ...you race around town trying to find that journal nehessaiu had in workshop ...once you find it you buy it in bulk ...you miss the bus and read every signature in books of poetry ...yes you pack all of the books of poetry in your shoulder bag along with your journals a bottle of water and an apple from the cafeteria in greensburg ...you find poetry in the underground pigeons at port authority ...you arrive in Baltimore thirsty for that rootbeer you missed in greensburg with arisa ...you mouth the names of poets with whom you've fallen in love with each breath before you go to sleep uttered by a black girl at 4:54 PM. | 2 comments
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