ghost ship 12/2016

sometimes our homes are makeshift

scrapped together under someone's roof

you don't like them particularly 

but they made space

sometimes we make beds 

on top of wood pallets, mattresses stacked on platforms 

that we didn't build but we repurpose for our dreams

sometimes we work 

without windows or fresh air 

because that costs money we can't earn 

if we want to create what we need 

sometimes we love each other 

in spaces that aren't standard or 

sanctioned or approved

sometimes we love each other 

and disregard the obvious danger that we are positioned in

because where else? 

sometimes we love each other 

and make music so sweet 

we forget that we don't have an address or a lover or a family or dinner

we do have a shared moment

grief is a process, and 

sometimes we don't recover

but we will keep making homes 

in our makeshift shelters 

in the peripheral edge 

grief is a process, 

but our dreams are still

on mattresses stacked 

on scavenged platforms, 

sharing a moment in a safe space 

resting in peace

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