that man will be lonely forever

in search of a solid foundation
he built houses–
rows upon rows of them,
enough to constitute a makeshift
modern-day hooverville

eschewing his mother’s bricks,
his lover’s mortar
for fear that supply would (as often occurs) fall short
of incessant voracious demand;

passing through his streets
they whisper amongst themselves:
“if only he knew the house he left
despite the hurricane that he has always been
stands tall still, and aches to receive him”


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