I think about going and let me tell you
that neon sign is like a lantern
in a snow storm. Not a whole lot
there to go on but enough to keep
from lying down and dying there
with nothing but a fading thought
of anywhere.

She drinks Heineken through her teeth
and wraps her scarf tight by the window
so her silver necklace doesn’t shine for anyone.
I ask if she’s got anything and she motions
for me to follow her out the back door
where there’s always more for money.

I feel the plastic bag in my coat pocket
while the stars blur in my sight line
since I’m never one for watching
where I’m going. It begins snowing
while the squatters place their cardboard
over their sleeping bags
and patch remaining holes left in their tents.
They should put them all to work
on the new space shuttle.

Old metal grinds older between the cable car
wheels and the tracks that they’ve been
running on since those bike shop guys
we’re dreaming of the sky.
The banks own all the ball parks
so the ice rink they put up here
every winter now is barren like a glacier.

No one seems to have a plan
that we can all just get behind,
but I’ve had a couple drinks tonight,
so here is mine, for your consideration.
Stop showing up for all that makes you
miserable, and triple down on what it is
that brings you love in any form it comes,
and when it’s time don’t be afraid
to fucking run.

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