Things are bigger on the inside
When tables, wall paper and La-Z-Boys cohere
Into the shape of rooms.
When God picked up this house
I saw it could never have fit
On the lifeless dirt and broken Coke bottles beneath.
I remember a ghost house
That I lived in, eating spirit food
Cooked on kitchen apparitions.
Now the incoherent surface of the moon
With moon ash, moon rocks, and moon-scorched microwaves,
Is all I can see.
Later, when even the ash is gone, I will wonder how
The humongous haunted house ever fit within the chain-links.
Things are bigger on the inside.