Coming Home

It takes thirteen steps

up to my place in the sky

where a balcony houses a vase
that is out of place just across
from a guitar that is out of tune.

I get home and sit at the balcony past the thirteen steps,
to take off my shoes and wonder what  music to put on.

It's noisy that is shallow she is bitter classical
is too heavy I need a shower it's dusty here
did i send all the reportsand...where
did i read hurry up now
it's time

I reach for the knob inside
through the window. The door
clicks open and still what  music to put on?

I get in, close the door, open the lights.
The piano is soothing but
that is what I listened to yesterday and
the other day I am full did I have breakfast
I need to take some stress tabs the floor is
dusty

It takes thirteen steps
up to my place in the sky.
I mind only them on my way up and
that store across the street.
What music to put on is the door locked-
they are as fleeting as when I strum
the guitar that is
out of tune.