My Only Home [sonnet]

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my_only_home

“So where’s your home?” the man said, now perplexed.
“It’s where I hang my hat”, was my reply.
“There’s no place which you own?” now looking vexed.
I saw his face go strange, then he said “Why?”

No answer could I give him to that word.
It’s now my life to dangle on this rope.
To many, such a life may seem absurd,
as if I’d lost all joy and had no hope.

Yet that could not be further from the truth;
I’m happy now each moment every day.
I’m still an ancient hippie in his youth
and view all atoms as a cabaret!

(My only home’s the river or the sea
or in a vulva’s moistwarm artistry).

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