these are not my red walls; warm
not my narrow halled haven to think or draw in
and observe the activity of a town i feel part of.
this town has my fingerprints all over it, yes
but from hands i used a long time ago
and closeted away with a mas i used to wear
or a face i grew out of...
but maybe i can re-wear new paths
or just hold lightly any concept i may have had of
home
become the vagabond others have seen in my side-ward glances
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