Chad Bowers's untitled poem circles around the saying "there is no place like home" and slowly turns it strange. Home here isn't comforting. The speaker feels wind, an aching arm, and a sense that "nothing made much sense." There is a sharp sadness for "yesterday," but also a small moment of relief: the realization of not being alone in this odd "no place like view."
The second stanza piles up unsettling images. Birds "fold like chairs," and the language of biology, "misfiring proteins and mutant amino peptides," suggests decay running through everything, even the "tidal motion of home." Yet a quieter line, "forever can be a day," hints at wanting time to hold still. The closing thought about love songs and "the wants outway the costs" feels wistful and uncertain, ending on "or so it seemed."
The mood is dreamy, anxious, and a little lost. The broken typing and fragmented sentences add to the feeling of a mind struggling to piece together where it belongs.