I
drink wine when I can find the time,
But
stirs up my sleep with dreams,
That
are not quite out of the past,
I
always drift back to that cold water flat
I
settled into when I turned 24,
A
hide out with almost no heat
Where
water even froze on top of the stove
And
the stand up stall in which I showered
Was
all I had to keep me warm,
I
go back there in my dreams like a thief,
Scared
the landlord my catch me
And
demand rent for all those years
Since
I last lived their for real,
Yet
as afraid as I am in those dreams,
I
feel as safe as a hermit crab in a stolen shell,
Like
no other place I have lived past or present,
My Alamo
with pealing paint
From
which I might resist the over complexities
That
life has become when I am fully awake,
Even
now with my eyes wide open
I
ache for that place, and the simple life
I
lived there, and slap my pockets
Each
time I think of it
Wondering
where I put the key.
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