Thursday, April 22, 2010

An ordinary thing

It’s just an ordinary thing
but no standard weight and measure
to fit within the cabinet
of a lifetime’s memories.

It doesn’t have a brand name
according to my history
or a pseudonym to indicate
its not how it appears
and, in fact, it’s simply blank
like a page before a poet
has begun the connect.

It’s heavy in uniqueness
and soft beyond the crust,
like a pillar then a mouse
in corners scared, afraid,
and it is square but rounded,
fickle yet dependable,
and altogether strange
in the context of the known.

If I squash it into past
it falls down on the floor
and trips-up forward movement
oh, so happily.

If I keep it in the present
there’s no room for other things
and if I throw it into future
it will die before I’m there
and so I think it must be love
that doesn’t fit the keeper.

It can’t be sold and so must go
the way of fat/thin clothes
straight and determinedly
into the hands of … charity!

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