After All It's There

Piled in corners
they gather
dust quick.
Lint and pollen
when windows open,
spider webs
get thick
added to and lost
under dust.
Spines coated
hard to read
(damp rag time)
gently
pull across
revealing letters words
symbols
sometimes too.
Give a bit
to smile
tasting dust
and lint
that drifted
onto lips

from what
escapes
damp rag.
Should spend
time cleaning
but seldom convince
self it's
worth it.
Just to much work
that only
I'll enjoy
benefits of.
So few come
anymore
quiet has settled
except
sound of pen
on paper
or fingers at keyboard
building each
world
for self
and others
enjoyment.
Just in time
night fills
hiding dust
and webs

that've overwhelmed
corners shelves
and unused spaces
that find their way
into
any room.
By light
of monitor
stare at page
wonder
if words make sense
or find their way
into nullity
like much
that
seems to get
finished.
Printed out
stuck on pile
dusty
already
months of coverage
make each
page
appear faded.
Lost buried
in unstable

stack that
gets higher,
don't really care
until waist
high.
Leans drunkenly
tempting cat
to knock
over,
not sure
which would bother
more
stack getting
spread over floor
or
chance cat
might be hurt.
That would
be something
to piss me off
either way.
What silliness
that brings
anger disgust
fear
what's hurt
might've been lost
or worse.

Well find
no way
to avoid
clouds of dust
that will
rise when
anything moved
have to
live with it.

by David Howerton

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