mmmccxxix

a small story
(as a means to begin to
tell you yet a larger one)

aw, would that you’d
come in and have your-
self a seat.  i’d pour you
a glass from this bottle
that i just opened.
if not, we can say
our goodbyes,
my door is right
here. this fuss has me
remembering disrepair,
causes a feeling so deep 

that a little bit of company 

is not even an option.
but i’m not there
anymore, thank
the lord; thank the
lord, now i’m here,

where i’ve my

parcel of cushions,
the four walls that
surround my little 

bed, as if to echo

and exaggerate its
existence, beyond
which are the people
i could call neighbors, 

those who live even
deeper within my build

ing, and beyond that is the city,
which ends, too, no matter
which direction you might go,
ensconced, as it were, within
yet another particular unit of 

acreage or of space which
extends even further outward,
as if to emphasize some sort 
of vibrancy, perhaps a
throbbing that comes
from the living, from
life, the parameters of
which are the edges of
my bed, my apartment,
my building, my city,
etc., each of these
having one thing
in common: they
are each and all home.
my home. my place.

home within home.

comfort that is mine,

a little.  where any

thing might seem, at

the best of times or

the worst, possible. 

i might dance,

i might sing, i
could create a
work of art or
build something
a bit more efficient (or

efficiently). i might even 

fall in love.  or fall ill. 

but then i might recuperate. 

within this, my space. and

why am i going on so about

it to you.  i should stop here.
i’m home now.  next time,
perhaps, you could come
inside, i’ll make some tea,

you can see the place in
which i exist, we could
talk about anything,
compare notes,
become friends,
or perhaps some

thing even closer.  

i do hope to see you 

later. tomorrow, perhaps?
but goodbye for now,
because now, i am back now, 

now, i am.... i am.

....