When some things have been wrong
and I just feel it
and some things have been good
but I’m not sure which ones
and the fullness of the heap today,
the unsorted pile of junk,
is getting heavy and very confusing
I need to go home.
There could be diamonds here
or at least bullets
and I need to find out.
Could you understand that?
That a person could float along with a smile,
silently collecting the bits of the day for later?
That they are very often just pretending to listen
and also listening a whole lot harder than you’d think,
and that all your being, your matter and liquid wrapped up in skin
is as fodder for someone else’s trade?
That you may very well be a tin can in my heap,
something saved to ponder later?
And can you understand that I’ve been collecting all day
and sometimes by the time I get to you the bin’s full
and you tell people I have a tendency
to leave without saying goodbye,
but don’t you know I’m making you into something else?
I have to go home to spin you into gold,
to sort through the wreckage and pair you up
with ironies, with the universe, with actual thought,
with how I feel and what I think you are
and what I’ll make you forever.
No, I am not too fun at parties-
I leave early a lot.
But I am lots of fun on the drive home,
lots of rummaging and picking fun
through the thousands of thoughts I have thrown
in your direction, to see if they would stick.