Home is where I lay my shoes for the night,

he says. Hes barefoot. I feel nonexist--

ent sometimes. So I write, fight, and love light.
His laughters phlegm-flavored. And his eyes dist--

I have thirty-two cents and a portrait of Lincoln in my cup.
I exchange them for cigarettes and a white Bic lighter.
O Fortuna velut luna statu variabilis.
Semper crescis aut decrescis.

ant. Home is where I bathe, in Beethoven
and perspiration, she says. Twin cats play
around her legs, around sobless tears woven
into vestiges of an old flame fra--

Could it be a faded rose from days gone by? Before the gray and tired hair, And did
I hear you say, he was a-meetin you here today, when feet intertwined and heartbeats
harmonized, To take you to his mansion in the sky?

med

silver. Home is where I dream of flying,
not that night of fire, chase, and murder.
A shoulder turns crying into sighing.
Too many to remember, the martyrs.

Cessi et sublato montes genitore petivi.

Home is where I play violin naked.
Im homeless.


Matthew D. Lee