Nothing is the same as home,
Yet home is no longer anywhere.
There is no place that is familiar,
Strange breaths are filled with strange air
There was an Aspen grove tucked in a canyon,
I still yearn for the shushing trees of my dreams.
They are covered over, now, in ugly, dinky houses
Filled with forgotten children’s screams.
Nothing anywhere is as it used to be,
Weird chimera animals and odd mutant things,
Symphonic director flukes are conducting
What and where the slave snail sings.
Raptors have pulled loose my strings,
My tight coiled mind has come unwound.
With trembling, fear, and cartwheeling joy,
I am rolling sideways, I am circling back around.
There is nothing of which I like the looks,
Or the smell or taste or feel. Oh wretched place!
How can beauty compensate for self given, or taken,
As the gift of truce and love, the unwinnable race?
But happy, happy, laugh and smile, lucky, lucky day,
There are more than just these two aspects of me;
The homesick, miserable, and foolish sane one,
And the unlonesome, lost forever, heat blasted free.
Bear … o5.04.2014
ⓒ Bearspawprint 2014