Hostel

We sit in quiet circles
and talk with coffee butt
endlessness stumbling
on the unfamiliar humbled
by inexperience.
Outside the constant
whine of motorscooters
beating the lights avoiding
each other.

I suddenly think of Willie
walking his Maine woods;
30/30 crotched:
stamping a butt —

rustle of deer

whir of partridge

~Taipei, Taiwan

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