Evenings
Near to despair and anthills,
too tired to run,
I will sit and wait for bites
Paintings on the wall,
there must be a message.
but my brain is as
numb as a dead man’s toe.
I crawl along corners
pull myself up for the EXIT.
why don’t I stay on the floor
There is nothing to gain.
They give me money
so that I listen to you
write notes, prescriptions.
for a moment of nothingness
you will get my attention
for what it is worth.
And then I come home
to my retreat
so I can place my garbage
in peace and what is left
Leftover selves
they just tumble across the room.
I don’t need shelves.
they disappear in emptiness
problem solved
dissolved
the alchemy of burnt homes
and I start to smile
which I still
find a
fairly
incredible
thing to do
