Poem: 100 Houses

100 Houses

100 Houses

Three decades of random
addresses, futile streets
on other worlds
where the words
refuse to coalesce.

Memories like melted glass
carried by broken vehicle,
under water, leaking
on indefensible tides;
this brain on the run
from cortisol-ravaged
synapses, selfish as war.

100 houses, give or take;
each address a moment
caught somewhere in a fight
with the wrong side of sense.
On the journey; trees,
wind and grey skies
with magnificent atoms;
dust shadows and light enough
to frame a still bridge,
burning choices;
the final landing.

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