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2020-07-08, poems

An Ode to my Former Office at 88 University

floor boards creak like the joints
of my spine moving robotically in
this turtleneck, sitting on the windowsill
like a darling, absorbing the sunlight
enjoying the cold air loom over lower
manhattan without a scarf and a hat
on, books in the library nuzzle their necks
into each other, a slick one falls off
the shelf but an old cloth bound
edition of walt whitman clings to
my first book, just how i arranged it,
they say i should get out of
the office more, be in the rest of the world,
don’t worry, i do, but this is a
wonderful world
to me.