marching down main street

i found a never-ending stock of old bank receipts,
yellow copies from dinners out
and constantly waving a bit of plastic in the air, saying,
“i’ll just put it on my card.”
purse full of atm records,
lists and lists of things to achieve,
overdue bills,
coupons and cash,
cell phone, car keys,
it never stops.
this little black bag is
bursting at the seams.
we started in new york,
days later – nothing greater than montreal,
coming to a close in a quaint college town
back home in vermont
then back to burlington
my brother, my cat, my fat.
for every day i eat nothing,
at least two more go by where my stomach
is full to the brim.
i haven’t been smoking.
i’m not even sure that’s a good thing.
five days out of every seven
i’m surrounded by the sick,
the helpless, the horrible, the homely –
how can you expect me to be okay with this?
anthropology has failed me,
leaving me with little more than my inherent rhythm
and a love of classic rock.
i truly believe this must be a turning point.
although i’m aware,
i can’t bring myself to care.
can you?
i think i’ve stopped hating myself,
or am something close to it.
funny how a blank sheet of paper fills up so quickly
when i have fifteen minutes to empty my mind.
mostly this is the leftovers
leaking out of my left ear.
no, this just isn’t long enough.
i would say i need more time –
but i know i’ve got all there is in all the world.
and it’s still not enough.
hey, that’s greed.
time to learn to do without.

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