things unfixed

not so long ago
i went that way home
now i go this way
& before those two places
i went home a whole other way
& before that another
& it saddens me that home
is always unfixed
certain as the direction
of wisps of smoke 
& maybe none of these are home
roads & smoke be cursed
maybe home is only in this
goddamn line & the next
& to settle down is to get lost
in this ancient place of ink

Rob Plath, contrary to popular belief, is not yet under the jurisdiction of the worms. His latest book of poems Batter the Keyboard Like a Raptor Is Behind Yr Back is available from Laughing Ronin Press. See more of his work at: Read other articles by Rob.