'things'
by baby smith

maybe i make art things to sweep my mind
declare a win
find a place
infinite space
somewhere i can reside

free of clutter
no walls
no doors
no thoughts a flapping all a flutter

i lie awake
rest won't come
i only worry
come undone

why must i fill my world with things
rusty washers, parking stubs,
garage sale signs, o rings
filling drawers, spilling out cupboards
creeping in crevices, taking root in my floors

might i survive
only clothes on my back
blood and bone
nothing to buy, pick up or lack?

instead i sit here
on a chair
with a pen
scratching notes on recycled paper
wishing for calm, some kind of zen

sleep will come
eventually
dreams carrying me without a fight
void of fear
full of light
all my problems solved overnight

i'll awake, spry, full of vigor
with a new set of eyes
ready to greet the world and fill my chest
feeling taller, stronger and a little bit bigger

then i'll stop, look, touch and lift up
the most wonderful picture a child just dropped
and think to myself, without a doubt
this would go nicely right over the couch