Boxed in by storage challenges
Wanting to be lost in the beauty of
Design and art and full book shelves
One voice screams
Another, drips tears
The third, finds a smile
Between the last lint in the tool box
I rumage for the portal to
where I did no harm
What if the gin took a little longer to
With me. Maybe I’d control the harm.
Maybe, we’d tumble through snow
Like a Pyrenees
Maybe, we’d lay in the hay like the Walker
Breaking the wall down.