Caught in a (w)rec(k)tangle

When the house becomes too small to move-

Say-the mind a sliver, the air stagnates,

Move, make ninety degrees and push

yourself in the corner as close as you can

                                                    and wait,

settle eventually

                                      into splitting sides.

The edges are solid suggestions.

Only like (a)new angle,                thirty-three

vertebrae stacked spines of letters in cantos

                        Will line up to form new rays,

circular thoughts that roll off to escape

                                                       -common

nodes or intersects by a(n)arrow marginality.

Letterally, let us build this thing out

with meaning and not caulk it up impermeable

Around the double pane windows

Only to trap commas in between

Breath and rain

Between escape and containment

We will just

stay in place and listen

Accepting the sentence

as the last line

Insight. May be make more

empty dwelling spaces

To call a place

None like Home. 


Painting by Michiel Sweerts [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.