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Memory Motel - Seventh Floor

I have gone from rags to riches
in the sorrow of the night,
in the violence of a summer dream,
in the chill of a wintery light,
in the bitter dance of loneliness
exploding into space
in the broken mirror of innocence
on each forgotten face,
I hear the aging footsteps
like the motion of the sea,
sometimes I turn, there's someone there,
other times, it's only me,
I am hanging in the balance
of a perfect finished plan,
like every sparrow falling,
like every grain of sand.
---Bob Dylan

Be sure to wear
some flowers
in your hair,
San Fransisco,
circa 1994

I want to go home

God bless the boys
who make the noise
on 16th Avenue,
circa 1992

Go to the sixth floor of the Memory Motel

all the people
living for today,
Washington DC,
circa 1995

Go to the eighth floor of the Memory Motel