dusty floor glory

i suppose i should clean
my room now.
it’s been about three years
of bouncing in and out
of house and home
and this has ceased to be more
than a place to rest my head.
but it’s gotten hard to move
though the …piles scattered around.
i am not color coded or alphabetized
and there are a plethora of things
in several corner piles
that i can no longer wear but that have
no other place to go.
there is an untuned guitar (ok, two)
in a forth or fifth corner
(funny how a square gets
so many corners, so malformed)
and a hundred dusty
adventures i’ll never read again
on the shelf to which
the neck of my guitar leans.

later on that night i found boxes,
almost nine or ten. i forget i’d kept them,
pristine in their dusty floor glory.
every box to every electronic
i’ve ever bought.
i can see crisp corners
in glossy highdef illustration,
whereas the actual products are dented and
scarred. there was something
symbolic about immaculate images-
mere representation in dull habitat-
of used and near broken products,
but it was gone before i could fingerprint
the dust in which it lay.
i was going to clean and
throw them away but instead
i simply added
another glossy highdef
to revel in dusty floor glory.

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4 thoughts on “dusty floor glory

  1. I’m afraid this room sounds like my office at home…it’s not that things are no in there place…it’s just the space seemed to be common ground for a number of things….enjoyed your poem.

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