Dear Sparrow,

We are not so different.

I come from the boarding house, a place with the slow pulse

of exhaustion, a place with a grim greeneyed monster who waits

on my bed, who I evade, again. And again, I cast my pennies

down on wooden desks again. And again, I have no haunts

because I never return, I pack up my half-darned socks

and blunder my half asleep way across the city again.

And again, I buy my meals by the plate, whatever is put on it

So I etch my path, knotted by now. I am fleeing slowly,

persistently, eternally. I would do something, but I can’t leave,

only to sneak out at night when his eyes are closed, and still, again and again,

he follows.

Who am I?