Let us accept forever

the limitations, the frightened

goodness of the single room

souls, their rice pot spiced

with the only spice they trust,

the novel of repeated action,

more disease than denouement,

but what harm comes

from a home done most ways

the same? The spectacle

is outside, rolling in the dirt

of spectacle. It’s sad

& beautiful that some

see only the gleam

of their own righteous hands,

but how would you keep them?