My home has a window wall
panes and all
that are hard to clean
but the light coming through
is worth it - you'll see
the view is to a street
so I can see what humans
are like by themselves
in a bunch
my home has scratched
wood floors
that scratch - a roller skate
and over there - a chair
fell backwards
my home has been home
to loves moms
strangers dogs
lonely artists
and parakeets
my home is warmed by the sun
and cooled by a breeze
my home rarely needs lamps
or voices raised
my home has a jade
with red tips
and walls made from brick
that scratch your elbows
when you lean on them
so that you remember her
whenever again you
scratch on bricks
my home will be for a while
until I am old
and I will give her up
for another homesick soul
with no idea
what she's missing
except for what she's hoping.

trp trp hmmspsh
hmm tkp tkp
ck-ch-ck-ch-ck-ck-chhh
haah-haam-hu/
haaaumm pa ta!
ck-chh ooowph
t-t-ttttt-chhh-a!
hmmm paaah
tkp tkp hmmm
tkp tkp hmmmspsh
mmmmm

These spiders on the ends
of my arms fly
without rhythm
just doing whatever
my wrinkly CPU
says to do
make it up
or follow the rules
but never on
eight little steps
eight little stepping stones
to the house
walking in the mud,
staining the carpet
with a reddish smush.
His wrinkly CPU is
shorting out
and that is why
we have mud.
And why we stab our feet
walking through the house.