If it’s from the heart
it must not be homeless.
Homes have heart, right?
Even when they are
in production.
Literature doesn’t
provide the bright-
est. The eyes that
glow with the most hope
are probably not the eyes
of poets. Nobody
smells / sports / spoils roses
like homeless poets is a very
ethnocentric statement (in any
form). But nobody is lousy (not
one person is lousy) and anyone
who can speak is allowed to
speak, etc. We are everywhere.
My home is you. But there are
no beams (i.e., no boundaries).
Only surface. One surface
upon which there is no run-
way onto which any flying
object can cleanly land;
no runway to properly
showcase any of our guilt.
