Poem #9

I pat my pockets of empty memory as 
I pace an unfamiliar place, a door,
do I enter now? A room full of 
strangers eating, laughing and I know
this isn’t real but it’s my unreal-ness,
to claim in each inhale and exhale,
shifting on the pillow I remember 
that to persevere through the sludge 
of technical misgivings is bold. And soon 
enough the soft sounds of traffic and a 
dark sky stir my hunger for a new day.