Garbage, a Poem

Yes, that's the title.

Garbage, a Poem

Picked up before I wake up

The empty bins stand

Awkward-angled

Away from the curb

Previously held aloft

And shaken, they rest now.

I wish I knew what they know:

How all is re-

Cycleable, but only in the mind

By which I may mean:

Can I not lose myself

Of anything?

Of you?

For example: fondling your faux-fur

Orange hat left me

Conjured with images

I’d rather not keep.

No, I’d rather not

Keep.

As in: a red shoebox

Full of old photographs

Whose lid will no longer close.

I’ve become one who waits for a signal:

The changing of gears in slumber

Heard other-world

Rumblings coming from the street

So: I’ll put you

Out for pick-up

In a small

Boat

Kept for angels

In certain clear waters

On a certain fine day.