home

do not listen
or open your heart.

ignore the shape of their lips and their eyes
their skin smooth against yours
the exact and unerring conviction.

their world knows no belonging.
it is not your home.

it is a rampant fiction creeping up and around,
and through
the flesh,
an impossible,
groping,
prison:
a place apart, where none could ever be.
a dead end, in the endless array,
a pure corruption.

circa 2014