"fledgling"
i sit in a hotel suite writing
about fame
& tradition. ramshackle
assemblage of
papers
trailed by the affectionate cuddle
of cigarette smoke. i must've
seemed old
& grey from her angle.
even concrete &
glass put me to shame.
but that's not what other people
think. i am
a different season-- a hugeness of fiction.
an unending catherine wheel, that goes
& goes.
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