We are home and hiding inside so much we know the darkness.
If so much the other world so much a flare or flog.
Cave, and the care of it.
One of us is daring, inventing spark.
Then we invent a death, we call it Dinner.
Then a pilgrimage—we call my home your Home.
You invent More My Home Than Your Home.
I say, “No, no, no. My home is MY Home.”
We have invented debate.
Then our children invent divorce.
It is best we say this is our fault.
But right before the throat tense the house invents mute.
The children invented such buttons; we were not watching.
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