If you pick up the past

it may be too difficult to lift

Marveling at my collected junk

and the ways I have measured time

is a burden

I can’t burn

Attached

and unable to let go

of photographs

that don’t look at me

Stories that don’t speak to me

Movies that represent things

I no longer want

This hot room

is empty

and I’m unwilling to fill it

not able to hold out much longer

against dull desires

that numb

a fading future

Where do we go

when we take ourselves with us?

We erase

but is there enough time or talent

to scribble new life

in a new line?

Lost is better than Found

if we can’t find what we are searching for

and all the right places seem wrong

and all the good people are not good

and all the right answers are not right

We’ve turned our backs on education

to become fools

too curious to care

what others think

and

Death is waiting like a stray cat

Hungry

and searching

for where its next meal

may come from.