1/28/91- Laundry

                                                                               1/28/91
                                                                                  L.A.
     
                                      Laundry
 
     How can a home be a home
     When you're just passing through?
     Give a name to a place
     I spend more time elsewhere...
     Now I can belong home
     In every parking lot I wake in
     Not this place where chores abound,
     Where desperate faces mistake me for him;
     Packs of battered vermin wait
     For something I've never waited for.
 
     I still look with love and pain
     Clutching my soaking clothes
     Playing pickle between a dryer and a parked car
     These shattered remains prodding paper and lint
     Looking,searching,dying for leftovers
     That no one would want but them...
     My fear of harm replaced by a mirror
     Me crawling on a carpet,looking,searching,dying.
 
     Can they feel anything anymore?
     Even I felt from time to time
     Love's nagging glow caress my neck
     Run it's digits through my hair,never judging.
     Why now it changes
     Even grows in new directions
     My submission makes it so
     To accept it on levels beyond prior reach
     When grabbing never really worked
     Giving in and letting it wash over me
     Not afraid to drown,die or feel.
 
     To be broken by a piece of paper
     Touched by all around,quite strong now
     Honor and honesty share many of the same letters
     Love comes unexpected,my path clear
     I need not know what lies ahead
     Only to feel
                                               at home
                                                      with myself.