5 angel lamps,
a micro wave oven
old apples shrinking in a bowl
a wooden Buddha
2 trumpets
and a random Beach Boy drumstick
strewn clutter flaws of imperfection
aged in an aging apartment
Nothing can fix this mess up.
Nothing can.

Odd matching chairs
a shaky worn table
an old curtain cover
glass floating atop
legs unstable
random chords
broken frames
bills scattered unpaid
remind me daily
typing away
Nothing, can fix this mess up.
Nothing can.

Books piled high
metaphysical eye
a bronze statue of Tara holds bracelets,
sweet tea by my side
a silver tea pot filled with change
a keyboard and a recorder
a mandolin hardly played
years of collecting cds
a 60 inch television.
gifted as a joke
to choke my life
as I lay watching
Nothing can fix this mess up.
Nothing can.

What’ll I do with all my junk
years from now it’ll still be crap
clothes from the 80’s
Mothers jewelry
given in guilt for pedophilia
strewn broken frames
from my last matrimonial disaster
Nothing can fix this mess up
Nothing can.

I don’t take care of my hands
No patience for that
barely hanging on.
ruminating the past
invisible apparitions
never dared anything
or got out of my own way
afraid of my own shadow
yet here I am today.
Nothing can fix this mess up.
Nothing can.

I could call a maid of foreign descent
call a hauler or file a complaint
I have this neighbor a hell bent bitch
locks me out of the apartment
while my dog takes a piss,

and I know…
I’m the only one who can deal with this!
Nothing can fix this mess up,
Nothing can!

Categories: Poetry

Leave a Reply