I turn the water on
Into the tub,
White noise
To fill the space
In my head
Too much thinking
Too many thoughts
Crowding that
Tiny place,
Doubting myself
Never believing
I am ever
Right or true,
A gun slinger
Who shoots
From the hip
But misses as
Much as he hits,
I turn the tap
On the tub
When I can’t get
To the bank of
The river,
Polluted water
Gurgling all the way
From Paterson to
New York Bay,
My life as thick
As the water is,
Filled with debris,
While I see it
As pure
When I paint
Pure water as foul,
You can’t live on
The shores of a toxic river
Without thinking
Everything impure,
Letting the tub fill up,
From a tap I’m sure
Is as polluted as
The river is,
Still it comforts me
Even if it is
An illusion
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