worth the weight
I threw myself on the mercy of the court
the jester caught me in his motley arms
when I hit the road again I may bring even less
reduce to my life to what fits in a small backpack
everything else has already been stripped away
there is a romanticism in being lost, in not knowing
whether this hole in the ground has a bottom
or whether it comes out on the other side of the Earth
I weigh the thrill on one side of my scale
fill the other dish with the heft of a normal life
then leaven this reflection with pho and jasmine
on this rainy Saturday afternoon in July
I’m in the back room of the Lost Love Lounge
I’d reach for my phone, but I’m not sure who to call
7 July 2012
New Orleans
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