Fifty-seven dollars and the four

cents I left on the desk in room 118,

not much else a half a cup of tea,

unfinished books, some phone

numbers, the Wolf Man, tenacity,

one cat, at home in Brooklyn

with the spiders and also 7th

Avenue, the basement of Macy’s,

the L train, the hello lady at

the Korean market on 14th

Street, hardly any smoking of pot,

was thrown out of the Charleston,

have a wheelie-cart for my luggage,

two tranquilizers, four Prozac,

minor elk viewing, movie stardom,

and the greatest waves of

happiness this sixth day of July.