still green


By Mike O’Connell
some call it hoarding
but its actually simple accumulating adding weight to one’s existence a kind of
material validation
memorials to ah ha moments
emptied of substance
floating with uncountable
others forgetting where
we put stuff that we want
to remember mixing dreams
with wishes using little tokens
to mark the empty spaces
where treasures once cavorted

their inherent beauty dancing
(still)in our inner eyes now
fogged with aging dust
fluffy anchors to things
used up or just gone
missed misplaced
lost in spaces no longer
available people
only walking in dreams
stiffly staring from photographs
edges yellowed redacted
details replaced with
imaginary conversations
situations and places
no longer relevant
even in black and white
beulah’s eyes are still green



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