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Twelfth Floor
The eleventh floor was always an escape
An answer to the every day illusion and imprisonment
But it wasn't the quickest way down
It was that open window
During that winter day in the middle of January
You could barely make out the Hudson River
Blossoms came early
We'd dodge the doctor's orders
And cheek our medications
We'd joke about the lonely man who later died on the floor
And the guy that looked like Kramer who did the Thorazine shuffle
Or the teenager who constantly washed his hands over and over
It was just me, a Guy, and The King, and Little Rich with the plantains.
Betty caught me touching myself once while in the shower.
These are the things I remember.
That's a lie.
I remember everything and a lot more than I'll ever share with you
Because you are just a reader of words
Not a reader of my heart


 2011 David Greg Harth
11.09.02.03:31:20@130BklynNYC