I have no idea why,
but each night I get drunk
I feel the need to go out
and roam the streets.
This is something I have done
for years,
only now I carry less weapons
and more quarters.
I dial local calls at random
on the payphone a few blocks away
and recite the poems I have just written
to the stranger on the other end.
I usually only get a few words in
before dial tone loneliness
returns
and I begin dialling at random
again.
When I am out of quarters
I walk in a single direction
until I tire of it
and then begin heading in another.
One night I traversed half the city
and would have taken the morning bus back home
but I was out of quarters.

I have no idea why I do
what I do;
only that I must.

I feel compelled
to roam the streets each night.
In much the same way
man eating tigers
alter their diet
without warning
and expressions never leave
the face.