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I usually check a couple times that my windows are closed before I go to bed. It’s called taking precautions
It was settled then: each time a poet died we met on the museum steps, Friday, midnight, the only time we all could make it
I was unseen, unheard, unnoticed. Here I was alone, but part of something, part of nature, part of the world. I just existed, like the rock, or the cacti.