A House Made of Poems
by Tom Bajoras
Everyone lives in a house made of poems.
Your house might be brick,
with a yard of grass,
and black iron gates
through which guests pass.
Or it might be
a city penthouse,
a jigsaw puzzle of concrete and steel.
Each room with a 360 view.
Or three in a row
where you and your bro
walk the streets
in search of beats.
My house is barely a poem:
A tent,
with stars above me.
Only punctuation marks
between me and God.