From room eight at the Albert by ML Heath

Knowing not where my next meal will
come from
I cast my last crumbs of bread on
the water
Knowing not how I will make my
next dollar
I pick up a penny on the street for
good luck
Knowing not what way I can hit my
highest note
I sing in the subway hoping someone will
see or care
Knowing not what will arouse my
deepest desires
I lower my trousers and continue to pump
quarters into slots
Knowing not who will ever allot me my highest
I pick up this pen and write another damned

Albert Hotel, Mission District, San Francisco

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