Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Sitting Alone In Thinned Out Rooms

There are fewer pieces of furniture
in this tiny apartment now.

More white paint exposed.

Scuff marks on floors and walls
left behind by a hasty move.

An emptiness you wouldn't find
in a thousand unfurnished rooms

Meanwhile I take inventory of
what's left .

My eyes land on my dead
grandmother's telephone stand.

My two year old cat sits upon it
with its limbs tucked under itself.

A sign of a coming storm,
so the myth predicts.

God, is this how it goes?

Once cluttered rooms thinned
out by lost love.

Or wholly cleared out by
plain old death.

Remember that something'll perch
upon your furniture
one day when you no longer

As for the myth about the cat's position,
it seems to me there is always
a storm arriving.

Look around real good.

Weep hard.

But then give it another

It's the only way to fill up
a goddamn room
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.