A poem about impulse control

You showed up in a dream I had, but with reddish hair
or maybe the dream was just red, it's hard to know.  There also
was a drunk girl who'd misplaced her drink and was talking
like if she stopped making sounds, she'd die.

To gain a little distance from her
I went outside to look for her forgotten Manhattan,
in case it was somewhere on the street.

You said, "Are you coming back?"
And I said, "It doesn't really matter if I come back or not
because if I leave and see even a cloud or a photo of a taco
or a cloud in the form of a photo of a taco
I will think about you asking that,
in the engine's hum and the quiet waking moments,
on the one moon earth has, everywhere.
It takes so long to realize what is missing,
and then it is like being haunted. It is like
recently learning to read."

And you sort of laughed at this. And I knew then
where I'd be tomorrow, and said:

"So even if I don't come back, I believe
I'll have the same experience
as if I never left
to look for this lost Manhattan."



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