Clutter

 

                          The days are littered

                          with empty bottles and plastic cups

                          dregs of yesterday's dreams

                          lie fossilized and gather dust

                          I am weary of frayed edges

                          half forgotten stale memories

                          the spirit is knee deep in debris

                          from the bric-a-brac of easy living

 

                          I yearn for the white light

                          the surgical precision

                          of a few thoughts of my own

                          unencumbered by half truths

                          free of warmed over prejudice

                          re-arranged

 

                          I would unclutter myself

                          but I dare not

                          my world  a house of cards

                          would fall apart

 

 

 

                                                 Jack Mashman

                                                 Rev. 1994