Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Carpet Cleansing of the Soul

in beautifully symmetrical strokes
he laid my past to rest
I stood in the doorway
of my apartment not to be mine
with empty walls, white surfaces
devoid of everything I had lived
not to cross the threshold
and taint once more
marring it or me with a touch
instead turning the key
feeling the latch slide again
OCD'ly pushing to be certain
a tick bred from six years
then feet leading me flightly forth
unburdened, clean