i carried paper with me
everywhere
in a knapsack
or an overcoat pocket in the winters
of west side chicago
alleyways
my back against bricks
i held them under weak hanging
lights threading open mics
the Appalachian trail
did not stop me
the subway trains
the bars
the libraries (of course)
into parks where the sky
opened up all my thoughts
often i lay them out
beside my jack
rocks
i felt the social
vacuum
around me
dead air
i didn't
care
so alive
was i
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