maybe i’m wasting my youth on a bed,
and all the grand houses i own
exist only in miniature, in my head
maybe it’s all part of my syndrome
but at the end of this long day
when the sun hits the roofs of suburbia
i think that my green light
glows in the shape of a home
with it all my potential to be anyone
to somebody else
sets down into bed in a cookie cutter
room of a perfect square
each time i’m blown down by
the elements out there