Instead of mopping
what lay beneath,
I painted underfoot
–no scrub, just brush—
–not nail, but soul—
detailing in
tended topography,
I rounded corners
my Technicolor toes
tipping
–traps unsprung–
when momentum seemed to fail
in lieu of dusting
grit, I kept it
distributing feathers
in
sweeping mimicry
–as light as hope and
–thrilling as wind and
–detached as the bird
from tale
we’re plucked
foregoing white
wash
I dyed
–you heard?
that wool that gathered
every day
camouflaging stain so
blinders complimented
perception and
vertigo impressions
labeled: upside down
and
I skipped packing
up
good
(s)
boxed instead the
(bad)
the
space surrounding
. . .things
–amassing containers
in public storage, I
(promptly lost the key too
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