To me and maybe most of us a house
is often made a metaphor of mind.
No matter it’s in Monterey or Taos
or Tulsa, Flint or Madison – behind
the doors, beneath the roof, there may be mess
or decent order, stuffiness or gloom,
an urge to clean that earns the word “obsess,”
a separate formal (unused) dining room…

So vital is our residence, we might
as well be monkeys peeing from a tree,
confining us for safety’s sake all night
to barely moving anything. You’re free
to live whichever way you think is best,
provided you don’t soil your own nest.