Home and Sleeping

I am home in my dead city
with its single strand of white lights
open clock faces unawake
without pedestrians.

I live in a dormitory.
Custodian scrubs my toilet,
he does not speak my language.

I sleep next to my brother and
I have seen him naked.
We sleep sometimes one at a time
with the lights on
all night long.

Chicago baited me
with familiar streets, beach to beach
but this morning I woke
with a lover, warm bodied,
embraced.

He puts up with my snoring
kisses me a gentlemen’s
goodbye on the Green.

I go where Mother lives
in bramble-rubbish
a life no longer my own.

I left Chicago by
afternoon transit:
        Providence
Europe
    New Haven
      New York-–

push titles place to place.

His room his home,
another across the hall
and my own.

I have three places
to sleep and wake.
I am never alone.