i told her
we are close
to home
when we feel
as if we don't
belong anywhere
life after all
strange arrangements
storage depots
haunting melodies
rhythms between
station after station
we became
window come on
store front display
what is it we see
ourselves seen as
is what it is
eyes wanting
our soul
its hole where
rain gets in
do we ever feel
the elation
as real estate pull
does provoking artifice
as need brings us
anything other
than fleeting
commodities
things we trade for more
moments we can keep
for ourselves...
ooh, that was good i say
your wordless privacy
is a God construct
much like your pie
both keep a good
fork and mouth quiet
sated to why undone
is often the home
to blessed inside with
EJR ©
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