If I were to explain the genesis of this, it would make no sense. Suffice it to say, we are leaving the concrete jungle and off the world of manicured lawns, a world to which I fear we will never belong. It is a diaspora of three; we just keep moving. Maybe someday the mothership will come and rescue us.

BTW, it’s a busy little, KT kind of a mix.

In the winter all the geese
Huddle in the water where the sewerage leaks
They just want to stay warm and so do we
And the whirring of cicadas is drowning out our tears
and the rushing of the maple tress is dampening our fears
My fingernails are bleeding
and the wall paper is tearing
Every little in was covered
By the happiness of flowers
and we’re shredding it back to the bones every beam exposed
We’re blowing off the roof and
The stars at night- they’re blinding and alive