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