Infancy To Clarency; Womb To Tomb Poem by rhiannon fisher

but, truthfully, we are never without home, in the larger scheme of things. and, perhaps the definition of home changes within each indefinitive moment; within the consciousness of our own dilemmas, our own surroundings, our own individual definition cloaked behind each word.

i erupt in the light of day, tuning slowly through each complete home freebase station. i fold to good graces, a sucker for elegant words; beautiful familiarity seeps like sludge through distraut corneas. it bores me. this city is my wreckage...idle hands. infancy to clarency; womb to tomb, i covet my Mother's intense idolatry. born into belligerence, i seek the life most loath because of distrophied diagnoses.

i am the impoverished monkey dining at the wheel of fortune; i perpetuate the umbillical cord of dominance; days stacked like pancakes before an overstuffed belly; releasing the resurrection of my treetop, star-spattered, freedom fall to beggar's chance; in simplicity's hands; within God's fan club incubator.
my home is where i am as free as possible from the nonsensical malignant tumor of society's lasting imprint. hard to conquer freedom in lawful territory; when the chip's monitoring whether or not i went to confession.

my life is plagiarized from different sources, and i hope that the instances i take from ideas constantly morph magnificent; welding together and breaking apart in different ways to keep my everchanging mind the epitome of chaos. ideas rejecting one another; combining and creating wisdom within my home base, attic space continuum.
home...
i wonder if i'll ever find it in this life. i staged hope as lead in this play; backed by integrity's willpower.

fear of homelessness is the fear of the unknown. we aren't taught to fend for ourselves in the wilderness...we are taught literature, writing and mathematics instead. we are taught to fear what we don't know, what we do know, and what we have no experience with.
impoverished, beggar, homeless, bag ladies...all words to keep us in need at the threshold of the television screen or the mall doors. home in this society is any shopping mall or convenience center-kwik trip for instance. without things we become nothing according to this mentality. dirty is bad; although, science has found that there is a bacteria in dirt that helps depression; nature is our refuge and cities our slums; our back alley abortion tollways...they rent wire hangers on the on ramps...usually only to abort the brainy figure in the dimlit aquarium. they bogart it in their conspiracy theories and mass murder epidemics.

it should be a choice. those who choose to be nomads should be able to take advantage of the opportunities and lessons Earth has to provide; those who choose eternal poverty inside the gates of heaven...so be it. but let us choose in which way we decide to define 'home'...without force or persuasion.
the future is coming...and i stand before it, arms spread and eyes peeled. ready to embrace catastrophy.


horizon's sunrise address slips west
continuous exertion
lavendar cast-away
drip, slip, fade