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.