My arm is on my lap. I am stuck in a place that has no restraints. I am waiting in a line in a crowded cafeteria impatient and worrisome. Do I write him off? Or do I just love all over him, his lips, his back, his soul. I am writing and running errands and stretching and working. Where am I? I am here, to them I am gone. My stomach is twisted. I am learning and being stepped on by professors who view their jobs meaningless and unnecessary. Walking quickly to the warmth, through the steam, up the wet pavement where there should no longer be snow but there is. I’m checking my mail, loving sentiments from family, anticipating checks. There I was sitting down in a hard chair. I am a broken spine immobile and dead and one. Drive down town and dance. Come back and disappear.
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