It Is Like Nothing Else It Fells Like No One Poem by RIC BASTASA

THERE will always be someone strange

even if there is a name, or a place to go, or a house to stay, there will always be
strangeness haunting

it is like nothing else
it fells like no one

There is always some places where we remember the scent as though we are dogs
of territoriality

There will always be strangers even if we live with them.

The name of a place loosens. There are ropes that we do not honor.

There are stones that we do not carry. There are hammers meant only for
the keeping.

There are nails meant to rust. There are houses which never become homes.

Hearts that never become hammocks. Hands that remain fists.

There are familiar places which we no longer consider returning.

There are times of sleeping which are residents of wide awake eyes.

There are moments when we regret having mouths.