The Power Of No Words To Describe Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

I contemplate the homelessness of words
depicting the homeless. who are the homeless.
are you a homeless? am I? is it a rare species?

can it fly? at least, from tree to tree
out of necessity. or to seem more pleasing.

is it on fire? will it expire if not looked after.
does it flood. is it, made of mud? can it be worshipped.
deserted?

given potions to make it well?
can it spell?

is it a hard sell; something not to tell, a wheel with
no spokes; a joke to indoor folks.

is it a turtle with no shell? a wish without a wishing
well a presentless Christmas, nativity with no star.

is it a heart kept alive in a jar, outside the body, too?
does it still beat though not so neat or is it
shot clean through with a sociological arrow.

some Valentine.

what was it called before? a homed?
a domed? how odd to lose your home
and then your name at the same time;

standing in vast rains.
let out at dawn to roam all day
humbly near the Library steps in little bunches

because you don't deserve to stay
as THE HOUSED do

[as pets do, don't they? given dubious lunches
not at the outdoor cafes. chase them away! the dodgy]

they seem to say: at the agencies
though not aloud, proud I guess
of these distinctions. wow.

and is your soul unhoused too?
or isn't it the same soul you always knew

when you were living inside like a cat.
if only someone would questionnaire that.

mary angela douglas 8 january 2016