long road...homo

I took a shit in my new bathroom.

the hall stretched out before me and I felt the sensation of space
(forward moving, physical, you-can-step-there-if-you-want-to space)
where it hadn't been before

this apartment is much larger than the last
and as I looked into this largeness a remembrance of the spatial relationship to my former bathroom breathed into the back my consciousness

ghost lingering
phantom pain
sadness for what is no longer mine

I've been reminding myself as much as possible lately that life is what matters
people, dogs, co-habitation

possessions are lifeless, dead, irrelevant and unloving

seeing all the crap I've accumulated over the years and fearing for its safe passage to my new address has done this to me

crap, all of it

buttons and cheap clothing
bar stools and furniture
posters and old magazines

some of it is important crap
like photographs and letters, diaries and art
but crap just the same

I've worried a great deal these past few weeks, concerned with how upset and out-of-order my home has become
"There's a direct correlation" I said to M.S. "between the order of my surroundings and the order in my head"

as far away from my Downtown life as I could have ever imagined
away from all that is safe and sacred and mine

The concept of Home has seemed a distant memory with all the worry of moving from it.

My own life feels not my own.

But I wonder what defines a Home for you? Is it concepts? Zip codes? The familiar? What you own? Or is it the people? The changes? Where love is? Where you land?