it seems like a thousands years ago

i was in miami for the fairs

writing poems

on the hotel note pad

at the Shearbourne

and every year since

ive been down here working

forcing in 30 minutes on the beach

floating in the light blue sea

forgetting death

forgetting my mother

was alive

and working on the hotel note pad

free to write about you

to think about

what i have in new york

who i have

all that’s left

of everything

i always wanted