Cleansing October o1, 2o15

Here's another one of those poems that I started but never finished and wound-up forgetting that it even existed! A short piece that has more of a specific structure than most of my work. When I look at it, it seems that it does have something worth saying even though it may just be a small bit of thought.

Cleansing

 

Sweeping up what's left of me,

toss the broken pieces
I no longer need

 

into a plastic garbage can.

Difficult to rid myself of all
those brittle bits of trash

 

which spent the whole of life

contained within my leaky brain.
Too much mold and rot to fit inside 

 

the largest Hefty Bag. Memories

are a lot like Autumn leaves,
the more you rake ‘em up 

 

in awkward piles of nice and neat,

that many more fall from the tree.
An endless chore, forgetting is.
Woodie 1-24-12 (rewrites 1o-o1-15)