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i didn’t put up shelves because
i didn’t plan to stay too long
the larger books and drawing pads
pile up along the walls
leaning and teetering above
mass market paperbacks
with paper thin covers
and footprints too small
to support the others
more books along the baseboards
and in more than half of the kitchen cabinets
sci-fi bookended by dry rice and white vinegar
maps and dictionaries under the bathroom sink
a life’s work props up the coffee table
bad authors in what used to be a fireplace
the growing complexity of my living space
when i’m trying to more minimal
lets me know this is my home
the time is incorrect
the lights are harsh and the clock is wrong
which means these rooms are not my home
where i take care my minute hands are right on
where the lights are soft and the temperature’s warm
must be that country magic where with
one twist the blinds open and the trees sway
like great masts tilting against the sea waves
trunks and limbs bending alike with the wind
wild flapping leaves of flickering sequins
flip the switch to off and the light is gone
frozen storm of payne’s gray take center stage
time has stopped, rain drops hovering
like a million swords of Damocles circling
over thirsty plants accustomed to waiting