Home is where some hang their hats. Home is where some hang their spurs. Home is where I hang my heart.

Returned in body but not in spirit to this place I call Another Wrong World. Where I continue to be Zombie-like, play the academic, watching out for the cityzens always in a hurry to die, my head and heart still back in the desert covered with desert dust fairies and blown asunder with gritty joy, grinning like a mad fool at the blazing color show as the sun crawls over the Chisos, Christmas and Corazón Mountains. My spirit and heart, my corazón, are trapped there in the desert of Big Bend. Here, I'm just a clone doing its job, biding its time, until the stings and chains are cut loose and I can fly south with whatever else flies. Put me on the back of a strong hawk and send us south to the desert: remote, quiet, harsh, and unforgiving.
But I call it Home.