Down two flights of stairs
to the hot laundry room,
the sun laying upon the door
in relentless waves.
So much work
into making a home.
How could I ever escape
the mundane tasks of life?
I could run all night-
free as a bird,
but would still need new shoes
come morning.

Brownstones are mountains in the flatlands
if I went West if I went East
The mountains there are tired of being looked at.
if I ran if I grew tired
If I stink of sweat will you still love me?
I lay in the grass; the ants claim my body.
Frank Lloyd Wright stands broad and tall.
The windows are all aglow.
How sweet and thick the night,
when all I can hear are the cicadas
welcoming me home,
their songs vibrating across the lawn.