Anthropomorphic Closet

There’s no more room. We are full.
Everything we stored, layer by layer,
Folded, packed in as if bandaging wounds.
Belongings we hung by a hook,
Belongings we lined up on hangers,
Winter wishes, summer dreams,
Sunsets, snowy peaks,
Yours–mine, sighs and sobs—
Now shifted every which way.

Forgotten. Taken down in a hurry.
Thrown in the corner. Turned inside out.
What is indispensable and what is less so
Thrown on the top of one another.
Once made to measure, grown short,
Grown too tight, faded or shiny—it’s all here,

Adam’s broken rib.
The plucked angel’s wing.
Venus’ fur and love–stain.
Rings. Combs. Ghosts. Moths.
No one can find anything here.
Where is it? Turn it upside down! Rummage!
Lost, then found again.
Rejected, then cherished again.
Cobwebs sway. The mouse gnaws.
The butterfly spreads its wings.

Torn in the eye. The sea on its last breath.
Night–day. Loves––doesn’t love.
Throw it out—keep. Give–take.
This to the dry cleaners. This to the devil.
The creases of lust. Washed out heart.
Weepy muslin. Ariadne’s thread.
Adjectival lace. Aorist.
Sentences–rags. Flake of words. Peek out
Of drawers, dangle. Expired. Eternal.
Trickle. Ooze. Shed tears. Drip pleasures.
The snivel of time passing. Used up life.