fourwallsred

home.
where exactly is that?
It's where the warmest and most fuzziest
of sensations make themselves known
in ways so profoundly overwhelming,
only biblical events could eclipse them ten-fold.

I want to have that.
That sense of home.
I feel the longing in the damaged pits of my
once ethanol charged gut.
The longing of simplicity and love.
Of love.

The image sold so shamelessly, and affordably accessible,
recycled paper printed, on greeting cards and
technicolored after-effects saturated tv and sappy romantic movies
and yellowing romance novels with the
classic guy and gal posing exaggeratively embracing
in sensual eye-lock;
The happy couple, and their manicured gardens, and
their 9 to 5 lives, and after dinner tv, and adventures under the sheets
only to be interrupted by the baby monitor.
Doesn't seem like a bad deal, really.

I'd like that.
Can I see that with you?
I'd like to.

Cheesy as it sounds,
I'd want to have anything a glimpse, a glimmer,
a peephole view, hidden cameras, heat sensitive monitors.
anything that would hint of a future.

I've always been afraid to see that picture.
You know, moving on in life together.
Wasn't the punk rock thing to do.
But even the punk rockers have kids and a family.
and better dental even.
better fucking dental, who'd have thought.

One thing rings true, and I'd like it to change.
For the better, for good.
I'm starting now.

I'm right at home with you...