by Marina Gipps
Tomorrow I clean my room.
Ripped up papers-
A river someday where I might unearth
A new love, rediscovering a new poem.
A thought that abandoned me so long ago.
The folds and layers of this mess, my own undoing.
Thinking back to when I had less which was more.
Wanting less argument with myself.
The merits of nothing invisible to the naked eye.
My only mansion is a soul where fitful sleep awaits.
Oddly technicolor this dream of a wishful poverty.
Where the cupboards are bare. The porridge, long gone.
A perfect space where love finds me. Here.