Liquid Chalk
I was at a bus stop
in Newark wishing
to die,
leaning against
a falling lamppost.
Newark is nice in November.
I was on the bus
for hours I love riding in circles
glass pressing against
my cheek.
O how each person
is traveling to or from
O how each person is busy writing
the book of life.
Please, if
this is not Newark point me
someplace else
I have been alive
for forty years and don’t know
where I am going
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