Several conversations and experiences with friends along the lines of “I’m not where I grew up” have led to these thoughts. I didn’t spend much time on this.
Home loam
My lungs and brain compress when in my hometown.
Every block drizzled with treacle and sour gravy.
Enough! Defy as it saps your bigness down to slavery
Until a forgotten tether tugs and summons you.
Red brown sleeping mouth draws in the box with corded tongues.
Ground fluffed stuffs it shut, you step away with others to quibble over funds.
Cede it all care for nothing,
Eager to get yourself away.
Eat as a guest with caution, deny the soil and stores that
Nourished you. Strive to not let the location of
Death define you. Vainly
Evade that someone’s home loam will compost you.
