The Man
A man did
come to see me,
You had
better believe
Because I
rarely remember
The last
time I lied.
“Where do
you live?” I had asked,
Holding the
burning cigarette he passed.
“I don’t
live in a house,” he said,
“But in a
room with no ceiling, no walls.”
“Where is
that?” I questioned,
For a place
must have a name
To make-
believe its existence.
My question turned him off.
He lit
another smoke.
Didn’t pass
me.
Went off
without a word.
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