by going out and raking leaves
but myself just doesn’t get it
you can’t mean this dumb metaphor
of a million lives swept away
and mine just one among them
lives beautiful but never to be known
if all you have is a big yellow pile
of days to be carried to the compost
here’s my contribution to the life
of the future in which I take
my millionth part myself said
I don’t want your pity
I just want to live in New York City
that’s not what I meant
you never listen to me
I said I had to abandon
a pile of leaves half-raked
to write my death for you
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