how I got kicked out of a nice place

for the baby coughed.
for the bearded man hugged his baby tight,
he already considered me lost.
 
for I maintained secrets under my bed
for my secret mooing troop of pee jars insisted
 
            that
                    “you do not fit in here.”
                     now you’re getting it, Father Beards.
 
for I ruckused on your carpets
for your chubby monster threatens tears.
 
for now the bulb lamps cough
forsaking subtlety, in unison. for Beards is a sensitive
for nerves he tripped when he spoke.
 
                   “this doesn’t work.” he gentled.
                   “but I have no other ventures.”
 
lie. for nada. for I have hands
for trying on & drying lies like dried leaves, for make wallpaper for walls,
for dim head-houses are made home by pinup paper plans.
 
for fall is here, Beards, I’m out of pee.
for so I’m out
so I can stare out identityless windows at another familyless street.
for so at last we agree.