One-hundred and Forty-three: Wulf

there is a space
where your car was parked last time
but i do not feel empty.

i walk through the doors
that you held open for me
but i have strong hands too.

i  am in the same bar
but on the other side of the room
so i can make it something else.

i slither through the crowds
for something simple
and then i see that poster.

a poster for Orlando
that i said i wanted to see
but didn’t really.

i still don’t.
but Orlando means more to me now, Wulf.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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