For David Gilmour
I want you to know
I have a shirtless poster
of Chekhov
tacked above my bed.
I admit that Miller
and Mailer aren’t in alpha—
—betical order
on my bookshelf
but instead rot
like used kleenex
on my carpet.
Fine. I’ve read some parts
from their books.
The centre holds
until I can find
a website streaming
the final chapter.
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