In Stance

To date,
I have more books than the
space that warrants them, and a closet
that contains clothes from the
last five years, each soaked with
sentimental values.
After a simple fore-
thoughts, I threw my bed
instead because I wanted that one-third of
my personal space back.
I have to pen a point, but with the
lack of care, I might
somehow draft my own
death sentence in between the
el.lip.sis.
of your nightmare.

Sometimes, I wish I was a noble
gas or a vanishing trace of the
moon, while the jazzy mud-skinned
vulpes leapfrogged quixotically across a
laid-back tailwagger.
Sometimes, re-phrased pangrams,
like the afore-mentioned, hold me
hostage and demands a proper shout-
out to the handpicked neophytes.
Otherwise, some shitheads should
shut-up or go viral
auto-tuned.

I have the urge to show
concerns to the penniless vending
machine at the humid doorway who
mocks my existence every
time I try to save loose change.
I have power the size of a
popcorn to ponder on
the beautiful things and I might
scribe thumbnails on
slates or soaps or any variations of
a sandstone, but
I stumbled upon the glossary and
lost my bearings over time. So,

pass me the com-
pass, and usher me towards
the podium I once stood, where
I howled tunes by
@natkingcole in a foreign
rendition suited for
ten-seconds radio jingles.
Without all that jazz, someone
should strike a chord through my
larynx, and take me on a
fleeting journey fully-subsidised to
improve this improv
till I relent and pay rent to my
tired voices.
Theatre of the sage; where pages
are my stage.
Do-Not-Disturb is not a
sign-off, but a
sign of rage.

Sometimes, I sleep sans
top, then the sexy apprehension on
seeing you without a strand reminds
me of the importance of clothing:
to cover the bruises,
our present's past.

But for now...

the backspace key is the future waiting
to be punched, and is
probably the only workable
button-weapon to rid this badly writ-
ten metres.

I insist this instance!
Write now!

Also, I miss my bed.

This non-required poem was based on a self-imposed line "Ten Thoughts on Tiny Things", and was written soon after realizing that the space constraints for my books have become a new problem to The Believer back-issues that I've purchased out of my growing needs for good periodicals, unique schematics and pretty cover arts.