A home is a home to stay at home.
Brick and mortar. Carpets,
wood, varnish, and vinyl.
We lounge on our floors,
cradle our heads in our hands, and look up
at the popcorn ceilings as if we are relaxing
in blue grass. We have time
to discover the images of our desires
in the cirrus, cumulus, and stratus
of our white painted stipple.
We walk upstairs and memorize
every creak and sigh of our steps.
From our bedroom windows,
we view the street below: Asphalt,
concrete, trimmed lawns, and a parallel
line of parked cars. Not a single
space open all of us going nowhere
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