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I live in the basement
beneath the footsteps.
The furnace whistles to me on cold days.
The washing machine hums to me at night.
My ex-wife lives one floor above,
10,000 miles away.
My daughters with wings
sail between heaven and earth.
Getting honey from the clouds
and iron from the brown soil.
My possessions are ideas.
My lovers names all rhyme.
My conquests are fictionalized.
The shadow side of home sweet home,
where a giant prowls naked
beneath the floor and ideas
grow during intercourse.
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