In the tattered corner
behind the gray fuzz and
the half chewed piece of
spearmint Wrigley's,
I swear you will find the
cold truth of emptiness
in the blue darkness of my
favorite pair of jeans.
Today I saw the meaning of everything and it smelled like pizza. It made my eyes burn even though I couldn't see it on the table. The smell was everywhere and the meaning was everything.
The flowers on my desk, bought on sale at the grocery store, are dipping low towards the table top. The yellow tips are turning brown and the white tips are turning yellow. A candle burns. I smell roses. What a quiet irony; the flowers are daffodils and they are dying.
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