An old house made of ash
that never really was a home
A place where even solitude can rest

Those verbs you take to heart
relinquishing the common good
Parading through the bars, floating on ample time

My luck suffers too
and my body because of it
I hurt myself last week..
and I'm still hurt

The particulars of being
and being no one in particular
have made an impact:obtrusive yet at a distance, too
like sirens up the street you just can't help but listen to

I was dreaming I was dreaming I was flying
and I awoke to solid ground but still a bird
with a wing clipped
flightless
frightened
and the animals behind me
would have attacked if my alarm had not incurred

So my rest it suffers too
at the hands of larger things
I felt so bad last week
I can still feel the wing.