A tangle of sheets
And neon-lit pillows
A pencil of fire
Creeps through a curtain.
My boots tucked under and another night passes
Green mattresses
Yellow walls
Seven beds and five languages spoken
In sleep and dreams.
Stacked allotments.
Boston, El Paso, Flagstaff:
A cotton land in which to drift
And a boulder on which
To rest my head.
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