I have been piling up apples in the desk,
and pencils and papers and hair and glass
and everything that passes on the line
of my sight and everything that touches me
The act is not an accident of my brain
nor do I like not being well formed,
its not even any bond that carves itself
out of my skin but
For this world, I am the mistress
and everything here nails itself to me.
I accept the parameters and I am loyal
to every eye that stares at me
and every letter that is written to me.
The wood is being hoarded by the termites,
there is a silent hollowness though-
both are adjusting with each other,
sitting with me.
Posted for Magpie Tales