Home

Where is home?  "Home is where the heart is."  

Literally, a heart is located in a chest cavity.  

Wherever one goes; there they are, as is their heart.

Hearts ruminate and know both good and bad ruminations.  

There is no darker heart than 666.  

There is no more light a heart than that of Nirvana.

Peripherals provide hearths to hearts and homes.

From people, places and things to myriad dimensions,

including doppelgängers, home is wherever I am:

transparent and naked to universal elements,

which makes "creature comforts" important.

So, whether it is a "group home," "the streets," 

"halfway house," "assisted living," or otherwise

"a million dollar mansion" and in between:

a home can be "a copper kettle and mitten," 

or else "two pennies and a handshake" 

pan handled over coffee dunking a doughnut.

Home is a cavern which protects and harbors

living creatures against afflictions by both self

and outside entities, real and imagined.

It is a place to lay up for the night void of

hassles in a world full of assholes and 

it is a place to garner much needed rest,

peace, love, happiness, joy and relaxation.

Ideally, for a lot of monies, a home is seaside,

but practically, it is a single occupant entrance

with no tenants and few neighbors in sight hedged

round about by fence or shrub, driveway, storage

and most importantly, enough room for two people

living together "to stay out of each others' hair."

On those days wherein palming a sparrow is too

cumbersome, there's a room for family to sleep.