Like many men
my age
and burning through
the surely forgettable years
of
East side dead ends
and
freight trains full of chemicals
that I can't pronounce
and graffiti
I can't read
charging down
welded tracks
through the overgrowth
of the front yard,
Most nights I just can't sleep.
I've created over a hundred
terrible ways to say goodbye
to a home and my neighbors.
At 25 I'd lived in almost 30 homes.
There were mile-long driveways
paved in gold.
And then there were apartments
where we slept three to a room
five stories towards the moon
and twelve and a half miles
from the city.
Some I remember fondly,
most I forget all together.
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