canons of syntax

seems I vacuum more often
than actually necessary
these days.
trying to shake loose Cobwebs.

film forming in my Corners.
I hangout alot
with the potent bagless
Dirt devil.
chasing the flecks
filtering through the bits of Sunlight
from the dust crusted Windows.

a glassy Reflection mostly.
everything I see
reminds me of me
every foolish task
a musty Metaphor
from a ghastly Playwright.

mostly, I guess, because
my own head is Unoccupied by rules.
by all the -isms and -ites
of Committees and Commissioners

the Vacuum fulfills as Guaranteed
as throw
rugs tremble in its Wake


I wonder if this, too, summarizes
a Career.

was i That teacher?

prying trembling Minds
trying to suck the knowledge Out
before giving time to Brew?

tiny pebbles quake before the Motor
but refuse the bagless

I hear them Ricochet
off solid, Golden, oak floor trim
freed by the sheer Force
that promised to Devour

til next Time


The Moon.



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