Stack

Stack your hardest imaginings
into a forest.  Let go of the illusion
that they may become something
you intend.  They’ll grow and change
until you will not know them
as your own.  You’ll be lost in them.

Stack your electronics into a wall.
Stand behind it.  Live
behind it.  Here’s the coal to run it,
hear it firing its synapses into
your own.  Long arcs
carry half-formed dreams
through the smoking air.
You toss fuel into the blaze.

Stack your clothes neatly
on the bed.  Don’t ever put them
away.  Leave them in piles
where you can see them because
the closets and drawers are so full
they may as well be empty, you don’t
go there much.  Naked’s a wardrobe
too, though not one you’ll recognize.

Stack yourself on top
of others into an orgy.  You’ll 
shuffle often enough to stay
comfortable and fulfilled
until you catch yourself kissing
your own arm, thinking it belongs
to another.  You’ll say, did I not do this
to avoid this happening?

Stack, stack, stack.
Pile up what you have.
See how high you build,
no mind to stability.  This is
so America, so World,
so much a Global heap,
see words disappearing
in there, words like
solitude, fringe of sea pearls,
oysters, eagles, vision quest,
unencumbered.  You mute
in it.