Neat Little Stacks

The sky is a sink full of dirty dishwater. 

And I’m going to need rubber gloves

If I am to properly sort 

The stars into neat little stacks.

The houses outside are lined in such fashion

That a child might have 

Designed this whole neighborhood

With crayons and wooden blocks.

Among them there are trees.

Among the trees there are birds.

And the birds are tweeting 

Some old dirge

Some sweet hymnal.

And I am naked

In a bed high above the world.

Exposed to the sun

Which closely resembles a rutabaga

Pulverized and smashed

Through old cheese cloth.

Today is a day for regrouping.

For hanging like well watered leaves

And singing to myself

When no one is looking.

I am contemplating

My life’s great lesson:

Should I stay or should I go?

Should I plant my roots

Or continue to wander 

The American desert?

The answer eludes me

So for now I am content 

With silence.

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