Every day is a new breakdown. I can only clean the counter tops, wash the green out of the wash cloths. You sometimes come home and look no where but straight ahead. I make so much noise. I build each disaster to scale. I try to finish, but the glue is made of a dried orange residue. He says THE MODEL HOME IS THE ILLUSION OF THE HOME. He says YOU KNOW EVERYTHING BUT EVERYTHING IS NOT ENOUGH. On the sidewalk a picture of a maze. I try to follow the pathways. I follow the sidewalk forever, that is. When I come home I look everywhere, I find your eyes and a sandwich bag. I find a new pile of trash. He says YOU ARE ONLY IN CONTROL WHEN THE WALLS MOVE LIKE LUNGS.
