View From the Cabinet

possess me
like a comb:
disposable, with
faint disgust--yet
useful, say, even valuable
when times insist. then,
to be honest, shelved
i become clutter.

(let it go!
i insist
like bad art upon
myself, my rights, or
whatever it is i ruffle
up about. such thoughts
contend with value;
not quite dishonest,
but: can silence lie?)

so cage me
like so much
dried organic slough--
water me at night
when the moon insists upon you,
then sponge-wring me out
when the day prevails.
i don't really care.

own me! crunch
my bones in
your sharp-toothed jaws, lick
your sneering lips. but
listen closely: bring your head near:
you cannot stop me
from having insane,
unreasonable,
unspeakable joy.

there is no
reason here.
or there are: cliche
decisions made as
a child. you wouldn't understand.
when the devil comes
to collect his due,
at least i can say:

i tried, and
i smiled, and
i was just your comb.





August 2015
I don't even know what this is about, the words just tumbled out of the keyboard at me.  Actually maybe I do know.  Maybe I'll find out.