it seems like a thousands years ago
i was in miami for the fairs
writing poems
on the hotel note pad
at the Shearbourne
and every year since
ive been down here working
forcing in 30 minutes on the beach
floating in the light blue sea
forgetting death
forgetting my mother
was alive
and working on the hotel note pad
free to write about you
to think about
what i have in new york
who i have
all that’s left
of everything
i always wanted
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