cleaning up.

i wonder of what others
retain from youth,
of what they pack into so
many weathered trunks
overstuffed with names and
knowledge and neurons. it
seems i have piled away only
refuse, which should be cleared
away with old sweaters and
television sets but remains
preserved inexplicably,
as if shells of hallowed memories
should someday return to use,
should somehow revive what is
done and gone.

so i wonder instead of how
it would be to empty my
scathed mind as an old trunk,
to gather up the sullied debris
from my crowded closet,
bundle it in black plastic bags
and set it upon the curb for men
to hurl onto trucks impassively
and haul far away, for burial
deep in the earth.

i imagine how the memories
would decompose like dated papers
fading sallow as time bleaches
definite print into unreadable
white, withers resilience into
tattered transparent pulp. i
fantasize of a fool grasping their
broken bodies, gasping as the
carbon crumbles into the
harmless earth, like butterflies
floating backwards in time.

i imagine the whole world
emptying their minds into
plastic cartons, discarding their
unfortunate misgivings to
men who pull up on tuesday
afternoons to bury their bitter
lives into the earth.