Next, make a commitment. Never let
clutter in again. Do not let it stay. Do not
let it set. No more corkboard
of old friendships, notes from a
forgotten era. No more escapist fantasy.
No more dried roses elegy. No more
of last year’s birthday cards, printed
poems, Men’s Health studies. No lies.
No more remembrance. No more polaroids.
Those are only made for you to buy into.

Lastly – stick to it. When you stir in
the dawn: jump, shout – become greater.
The sun is but a cleaning lady, gently
knocking on your windows. Jump. Jump.
Do not let her in. Leave these weights behind.
This mess is but your own to mold.
No more piano in the darkness, ragtime
Fur Elise, single ivory key running away.
No more poems about departures, love
or the loss of it. No more loss. No more loss.
No accompaniment. No thing. No soup spoon
at your parchment table. No taste. No feeling.
No napkin when you’re done.
Those are only there to give;
give the illusion of closure.