No one will ever walk past my door
It's the last one on the highest floor
If there were another room past mine
It'd be a moldy library
Or really just a shelf of books
M-O on Western philosophy
And I'd smell their soggy burns
And pick the brownest one
Take it cross town to that diner
Where no chair is the same
Under a napkin dispenser-
Walk back past all the doors back to mine
Dragging the mismatched chairs and tables
And their contents back with me
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