I had to find the way back down
before I could come up for air. Gave the demons walking papers
for the unemployment of the bored. Flew home after the breakdown
to drop trou, wallet, luggage, and dance myself clean.

You will always be my concept of home:
the garden with the beer poured over the rock, with
oranges hanging low over the fence against a blue sky endless.
You will always hang out the keys for me:
under the eaves where wisteria droops
where the hills rise, many-terraned and terraced,
in Mission where the hotels are crammed close.

I had to find it here. Had to have
victory over the broken. Walked through hell
on my vacation. You
will always be my home.

And there where the two rivers run through pines,
there where we can find a hundred paths into forever,
sister lover brother father betrayer
will always be my home.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.