June 8, 2016


…a house is not a home.

Four walls, a roof and a chair.

The strength to cut the tree,

the wit to dream up the design,

the patience to live.

Some have lost the keys to their front doors,

others have been foreclosed on.

“That one house on 45th and Jeffries has blue trim,

but the house over here on 33rd, ain’t got none. ”


“Home is where the….”

Clichéd statements woven from wives tales,

designed to sooth and placate the mind.

What is a home, if only just a structure to

eat, piss, shit and sleep in?


Who’s home now?

Knock three times.

Turn around.

Ring bell six times.

Turn around.


Four walls, a roof, a chair.

Watching through windowless walls until

Monday arrives from Friday.

There will be something to do then.

There will be purpose.

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