1421. Rested on two hills. Wooden frame my father built. Where I hid my pills. Paris plastered blue was the home of two wolves. Who checked up on me every week. And refute every excuse
Between the paris plastered blue. And my bed on the frame. It’s where they found the pills. My sister I would blame.
The frame charred when the towers fell. Buried in ash. Clocks moving and the water’s warm. But can’t go back
Bob at the mill. Blind for 20 years. Wood-working cataracts. Help him with his build. Carving wooden sculptures. Invented all his tools. Painting colored signs. Free of charge for local schools. 15 an hour. Was our base pay. All the empty orange pringle cans. Bob we’ll work for only 10.
The floors were rotting in those dingy rooms. Discomfort zone. But mice didn’t discourage him from finding home.
I’m writing to you from A dingy dark motel. Where brown viscous matter Plauges the water well. The dry walls are grey. My wolves freed me llong ago, But that doesn’t mean I haven’t got a home.