I don't care if I'm 15 poems behind. I'm doing this.
_____
The light rail is bad luck.
His voice crashed into my head, the city lights
burned the words into my retinas - I never
warranted the words I had embedded
like shrapnel into my skin - though
I seldom do.
Sleepers surrounded me in the 1 A.M.
voyage, but my mind awoke that night
to all the startling realities of my recent
life -
I was tired
of sleeping.
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