Here Is the Little Door

(for my mortgage on 62 Wonderland)

Getting dark beside the jail.
No one sleeps here anymore.
Shiver all you want, you'll fail.
It's just a locked-up, little door.

I almost owned, once, these cut stones.
I don't want them anymore.
I've stolen half them for these poems,

And words aren't good for settling scores.

I never wanted homes to love.
I never pimped my words like whores.
But nothing I did want was enough
To change world's river from its course.

Steal true things, you'll have to pay.
Steal a goat, hang from a horse.
I won't come back here yesterday.
I'm done screaming. I'm too hoarse.

I own the dark all around here,
I own that house with well-lit doors.
But heaven needs to disappear.
Then we won't wander anymore.