house/less 

when my car died all i had
was my mouth. it was summer
& the stars had parking lots to rest in.
i slept there, inside myself.
same pillow i had since fifth grade.
everything smelled like 
the mint gum i bought from the wawa. 
drove around with just my legs.
store windows glowing all night
to keep ghosts away. if you keep moving
it is almost like you're not without.
i would walk the little town 
& look for "for sale" signs in 
front lawns. pretend that i had
a golden goose egg i could barter
for my piece of the hunger. lately
i keep watching apartment & tiny house
tiktoks. they're from realtors & each
is a little empty shrine. i love 
the tiny ones. the compact sinks.
one room with a perfect window.
even they are not
as small as a car or a mouth or a july
when the moon is as thick as it's ever been
in your whole life. sometimes i feel like
i was meant to be a pavement dandelion.
something bright that should have
never stolen my piece of fire. 
i fit a television in my mouth. 
only once. plugged it in. pirated a show
i had wanted to see for years. 
it downloaded slow. always glitched. 
i didn't take my shoes off inside. 
tracked in dirt. wanted to be ready
in case we needed to escape. from what
i am not sure. i like to guess the monthly cost
of the apartments in the videos.
the last one was 7,000 dollar a month. 
tile bathroom. claw foot tub. in my kitchen
this morning i open a jar of fennel seeds
to sleep their sweet licorice singing. 
my old car is parked on the moon
but i still have my mouth.