Your space reflects whatever goes on within It betrays you, it baits you and it says From all these overturned items Flung and fallen, frayed and forgotten You will find creative conductors The other world looking out with faces Only you see. Somehow here You discover daring and dumbfounded Divinity as you drag dirty socks Spread eagle magazines to respective piles A half dozen dog eared books Doodles, lost keys, somebody’s number Scribbled on a scrap Tattered old photos Rotting yogurt, a dead plant , mouse traps Your favorite blue jeans in distress A single shoe, a legal pad full of your own writing Which you can’t read unless beyond sober You tell people you know where everything is Which is true because it is all on the floor Occasionally under and in your unmade bed Mouse droppings, angry unsent letters, Circulars, unpaid bills, threats from the IRS A dagger, open tubes of paint stuck in shag carpet Your ID, a to do list from another life Still not finished or even started Roaches, dead lighters, A jar of vaseline , a broken Buddha Your grandmother’s rosary Stiff Kleenex , a dog whistle, dead batteries A burnt out sex toy Stained painted shit , Even an invitation to someone’s wedding They’ve already divorced you think Twinkie wrappers, bits of broken plastic Smooth pebbles wrapped in a page of hieroglyphics Some kind of spell, a few wired gizmos Mementos, momentous mint tins adorned With sugar skulls or played out memes Dead roses, a long lost BIC lighter Ticket stubs, wisdom teeth, coins from other countries You have never been to, a blank video case Recipes for beet soup and sour dough bread You still plan to make, so many things that make no sense Until you’ve sorted them and assigned them to a drawer A box, the waste basket or a more immediate spot For no particular reason. You wrestle with lawless disorder feeling a little deranged , vexed Because you let things get so beyond messy The voices of critics wonder How do you live like this? You no longer try to explain You shrug instead and ignore them You’ve never met a tidy genius Iconoclasts are not anal retentive Order is artless Not what you’re after And you know this now Deconstructing the rubble Left in the wake impulses And inspiration that takes hold every time You remember things fall apart Rough beasts slouch Back and forth to Bethlehem While you avoid Bedlam By singing Bedbugs and Ballyhoo Wooing a new opus