a house in the Poconos
a house in Morocco
a house in Philly
are all places to hide
from the idea of my 9-5
when reality rears again
on Sundays, after six
you’ll find me wondering
if this is it
a place to live
a place to hide
a place to fuck
and a place
to rest my shit
pacing a track into the rented floor
in circles, within squares
to the sound of Summer Months on repeat
and conversations
with company I’ve just met