Moving in

Cacophonous creaks and groans as window panes, glazed

over from sunny respite, shake with the nodes of vibration

from the bus station in my front yard. 5:00am and the sun

rises over the only tree I can see and with a smile I roll over

and seek solace in the dark comfort of my lofty bed.

Floor squeaks and moans as calloused feet pass sweet

to the porcelain crow-footed tub that wouldn't even fit in the door

so they brought it in through the wall. Hot and cold knobs,

shoulders throbbing with anticipation of the emancipation

from my sore tendon fetters.

In the closet is a kitchen, petit and powerful. Four burners of

natural production creating meals for kings and bourgeious.

Water damage and decorations that would make M Stewart cringe.

And in this binge of simplification and eradication the only thing that

separates me from direct reality is the conscious effort to rise

from the comfort of my bed and leave this simple place and walk into

this complicated world.

Beep, beep. Alarms mean nothing when deep slumber inundate all

rational feeling. But I rise and go about my new, exciting life.