Home

I have never been home
Only familiarity with myself
The cracking wisdom of a belt
or the same T.V. dinner reflected in
the eternity of a white noise T.V. screen
That is my home

I never got off the bus or waited
Just sat down with a paper bag and watched
the floating friend who I’d always admired
and I’d wave because I
knew where he was going
even if he did not

The faceless remain faceless
and starving and mad and even they
will find home in their insanity
For what home can be built on anything worth less? 
home is nowhere the wind can’t touch