last days of Nov.

the spiritual experience of opening up a window

it’s time to start packing
place all of the books that you have
left in the cardboard boxes
look under the bed
sweep all of the remnants
of life lived in this room into the dust pan
here i am staring at the accumulation
of dust, dog hair, the corner of a
condom wrapper, a cotton ball
I continue to stare at this like
its art I continue to dissect
and remember
holding on to every piece
every memory from the summer
the waterfall, the overdose
can be seen in the gray
the blue bag from the time that
I bought someone a gift that I thought
they needed but they had plenty
but left me the bag
now it’s time to roll up the rug
moving all of the feelings
and things my body into a
new room