a soft table

no ornaments
to run away with

random accumulations
off and on 
this counterfeit floor

stacks of purpose
still sink
into hungry darkness

even the smallest table
can make objects disappear

a sign collapses

4 thoughts on “a soft table”

  1. Sometimes I feel like your poems are a challenge. You know, to figure out what prompted the writing of them.
    I hate clutter. Well, maybe hate is too strong a word. But I surely dislike clutter. Things accumulate no matter what I do. And the longer something sits somewhere, the less I see it. But the pressure from the clutter never seems to leave me.
    This is what you poem made me think of just now.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I bought this small table decades ago. A simple folding table from Ikea. All these years, I’ve taken it for granted because it works well enough. And the strange feeling that this thing that has been a part of my existence for so long without much thought about it caused me to peel back the layer of habit and take a peek at how this table operates in my mind.


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