four

green rhythmic thumping.  heat pumping.  fluid coursing.  home.

i am insatiable.

i didn’t expect home to look like this.  to grab me by the roots and yank hard.

i didn’t expect to want.

i didn’t expect to feel pain and responsibility.

i didn’t expect  an element not listed within the four directions.

home.

it is tomorrow already and there is still so much unknown.

it is tomorrow already and my eyes are filled with sand.  i can hardly see the dark path as it spreads before me.

but the rain spills over from your heavy lids.  the water drips from this leaky faucet and home.

home.

home.  an old building with patches, scars, a fixer-upper full of charm.  a month to month lease with an option to buy.

i wasn’t even–fucking–looking to move.

home.

four walls.  soft tissue and burning muscle.  muscle contracting and expanding with change of address forms and thin walls that let in the light.  western light, warm and fertile with healing.  the sonorous breathing of late night dreams.

home.