Friday, November 30, 2012

On The Thingness of Space

     I've been working in my old home-office for the past few days.  In spite of the junk issues with this space, it feels good sitting here at this old computer     

     Cleaning off my old computer desk and side table, I found abandoned notes made several years ago while cleaning out the houses of people who had died without heirs.

     One should not be surprised by what they see or smell or hear while working alone in the thingness of a house whose people have passed, never to return.

Today I resuscitate and probate three of these scenes, with voices, below.


A man falls heir to a collection of hats.
He picks through a dozen of them and
finds two that fit his head 
in a style
most becoming.


The public radio news assails him for getting fat.
His nose hairs are attracting too much attention.

The man has trouble sleeping when
someone sends him a cruciform butt plug.

He has stopped shaving his face in the morning.
He is becoming one of the hairy gray old ones.


Today he is a black crow
spotting shiny objects
in the wake of someone's being.

Eyes brighten and fingers grasp like claws
at scissors and hats and colored glass things,
small objects that make him feel good.

~ ~ ~