I need to go:

To class
and crack
open those notes and books
with doodles of your face I’ve derived
from staring at the back of your head all semester.
I’m guessing from your uneven sideburns that you have blue eyes.
Get my morning coffee
down the well defined concrete trail
heels pounding but leaving no marks,
where crowds patter by as one,
a benign beetle with a million feet.
Back down the hall
to the door of my weird neighbor
who lives in 202 behind the doormat that says
“Go Away”
and ask him again to stop stealing my paper
and putting up fliers for pyramid schemes in the door crack like
broken butterflies.
To sleep.
My dreams are becoming dull and frail with age; now
I’m their only caller.