How to spend 5 free minutes.

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This poem has to be more than just how I
feel right now because otherwise it will become
a monologue, and unsent letter, an unclicked email,
a rant down Avenue A that no one else can hear
but me, lost in the synapses of streets and bound
pages of my brain. I will do away with
metaphor and hyperbole, figure out if the line
breaks when I pause or just
bends. I will show it to my friends’ glazed eyes, pounce
on the bridge that it creates between me and a phone
call still not made, answered. I will
bask in the glory of self-doubt and self-pity, and convince
myself that here in ABC Playground, the weather is
just playing hokey-pokey with me.
Soon it will be too hot to write in the sun.

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