In Cambridge there is a house built on poetry.
Its walls comprise verse questioning reality and encouraging a move away from the norm.
Its roof beams hold the deep thoughts of a zen yogi.
Its floor bears the weight of the rain in the spring or the dew at dawn on mountaintops.
Step on it’s stoop and you stand tall on the absolute truths of creation
Smile and be productive.
Follow your heart and dream.
Its builder was a mighty dream laborer
Who years ago took his pen off the page and onto the wooden fence.
And from there gathered more energy
Spiraling out wider in his artistic sweep
Until the whole property was turned over in an expansive leap.
and the whole neighborhood enveloped in the psychedelic color of this grand cottage
this grand poet’s house
grand venture in an otherwise tight-knit portion of town
Where the benches don’t even allow bums to get some sleep
And traffic is mainly tourists from other countries seeking the lore of Harvard.