Mornin, yall

I am haunted by that borrowed house in the comfy part of town with oak shade and warbled drive-ways: crumbling blankets for grumbling roots. Bare feet on wooded floors, a night about the town still chopping at my head. Appliances, ceramic plumbing fixtures, drapes, Japanese cutlery: Tiny attempts at circumventing life's bureaucracies. The light of a day off laying blame to all of this that always never was mine. At all times alone together, yet smiling.