The Tao of Utopia - An Urban Exploration Poem
Stopping far from a level concourse behind a mahogany door
to a room where a girl poses for a portrait on the floor
between a large book and a crooked television.
Her gossamer night dress hasn't been changed from in nights and days.
By morning, he had decided he needed somewhere nobody cared about theater, someplace where the name Chekhov was more likely to be mistaken for a rifle than a playwright.