GOD BLESS PEAR-SHAPED GIRLS

Ruined, yes,

but my ruins

 

Just a matter of filing fragments,

separating the chaff, a freshly-shorn morning:

 

Lop-sided head of a fellow train passenger

(shut it down)

 

Someone beat-boxing out loud

(shut it down)

 

Those jeans are too tight;

God bless pear-shaped girls

(file for later use)

 

Discarded eggroll on the sidewalk

(file under raw material for yet unwritten poem:

Food Is Future Feces)

 

The security guard,

She had brown-hazel-blue-grey eyes

(unresolved filing error)

 

The adroit mismanagement of memories =

Collecting blindspots = fountain of youth

 

Archives: spiral staircases, flooded basements,

some areas un-mapped or booby trapped;

newspapers carved into corridors,

dust-coated attics, doors chained over,

just like those hoarder Collyer brothers.

 

So later, with the inevitable retreat:

Running towards the collapse.

Smiling, buried , finally alone

with my files for later use.