My house burned down last night
and I feel like
I should feel worse.
All I have left
is the clothes on my back
and the few things in my bag.
Not much, but enough.
It seems like I should feel worse.
Maybe I'm still in shock.
Or maybe I've just lost everything
so many times
that it fails to shock me
any more.
I'll have to get more socks, soon.
And a few more sets of clothes, somehow.
Figure out how to eat again;
will I still cook out under the stars?
Why not?
My new place is
a two-story climb by rope ladder.
Small cement bunker
hidden inside the freeway
cars overhead.
Not exactly the
cushy visitor pad
I'm used to.
But at least I wasted no time
getting re-settled.
Life must go on.
I always knew it wouldn't last forever.
The good things never do.
Almost half a year there.
Several hundred dollars.
Countless hours of labor.
A home and a hobby
and a work of art.
The best homeless pad I ever had,
burned like so many
other parts of my life.
Less to worry about, now.
No home to stock
and take care of.
No plans for painting
and electricity.
Just me, again.
The Great Big World and I.
For God and Goddess sake,
what do you want from me?!
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