it’s not a poem…

chocolate, tylenol,
lithium, flatpicks,
water, chewing gum,
knives, rocks, wrappers,
bottles, glasses empty and full,
ointments, salves, lights, lamps,
blankbooks, dried out pens,
books, magazines, hangers,
t-shirts, CDs, socks, bags, hats,
shoes, messages, letters, bills,
batteries, dirt, rug, papers,

and what i really have to clean up
isn’t even on the list.

i want to afford an arsonist
and burn this ground
down to the rocks.
i will sweep up after, i promise.
i do not want it to feel
as though it never happened,
i just want to carry less of it with me
when i go.