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Through the window, my possessions fall
Landing with a "boom", "clang" or "slam"
But I take a quick liking
To the satisfying bark of "shatter"
And they build in the alley; my alley,
My ravine
Into a pile, then a mound
Then a ladder
Out the window and down
Toes in toaster slots
And fingers in fish tanks
To the bottom
From the street, I look back to the heap
A poet’s wet dream
Equal parts bleakness,
Opportunity, and shit
Each begging for a metaphor,
A description,
At the very least recognition
Or just one adjective
The pile as a whole does, too
You can see it in the sway
It seeks more —
Deification, perchance
I turn and walk,
A free man now
Without the time or talent
Or patience for such things
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