We All Collect

metal-box

 

One must always consider one’s self.

This is the quiet point from which

All disturbances arise.

To be realistic,

The external is the center.

Perception is peripheral.

Nevertheless, since we fabricate by collage,

A thunderstorm, a feather, and the scent of sea

Is enough to make a world.

Enwrapping all is outside human capability.

The bundle is too bulky

And will break your back.

So, we collect.

Each with a shopping cart full of rags,

Here a bone from a pterosaur, green bottles,

A few empty tin cans, two clear glass marbles,

The photo of a child, the dried leaf of a fern.

And – if you are assiduous and realistic,

A small, rusted, locked, steel box

Full of concentrated pain.

Listening closely, one can hear

Faint screams.

 

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