My room is a collection
Of a week’s worth of accidents
Forgotten actions piling together into
An organism of its own
Dirty laundry forming landscapes in the corner
Mountains filled with ridges and winding hollows
Through the tubes of cast-off socks
Forming homes for wandering insects
Who have strayed from the motel of the cactus garden
Jade plant tendrils an expressway
Slipping off the desk to the mounds
Of clothing
While fish swim around their evaporating tank
Muttering to each other of the scandalous behavior
Of the two china cats filled with dirt and hidden lavender seeds
Which have never deigned to show their faces
As the cats whisper to each other
Flirting exclusively smirking at the occupants of the room
Pastel smudges forming masterpieces with the ink-stains
On the desk
Because the artist has no time
To clean them off
So they’ll mingle yet more freely with the dust
And pencil shavings and
The cats will keep on gossiping