Home is a parcel of bones
I carry with every
rigorous step and breath.
A place dislocated
like bladed ribs
bearing the burden
of clamped blood-
lines rerouted.
Home is putting
ear to ground
to hear grumbles of earth
paved over. Secret garden
of dormant seed;
ensnared subsoil.
The contrails of a mind
pulsating like a comet
before it burns off
into blank space—
unable to hit paydirt.
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