I need a lack

of things; receipts,

and refunds.

Got lots of tags

with hoity names.

Got fat accounts

with healthy sums.

Got colorful plastic

in all shapes and sizes.

Got’um for presents,

rewards and prises.

Now, I can’t move

from room to room.

Things crowding,

clambering,

usurping the space.

I find an inch

under the ceiling

an uncomfortable

place. From here

I can watch as the

material envelopes

in piles and snarls

squeezing me flat.

So, I’ve put in my order;

it’ll cost me a lot….

A six-inch hollow

above my back,

A tiny little bit

of a lack.

July 7, 2008

I have recently become a minimalist and am exploring the ramifications of such a commitment.  I have limited my wardrobe..2 dresses, skirts, pairs of pants shorts, etc.

I avoid department stores and seek out space-saving furniture.  I take advantage of my sister’s shoe fetish by willingly excepting all of her rejects.  I forbid nick nacks  (except those that I am too sentimental to part with which I hide because they accuse me of being a hypocrite.)

I hang out with maximists and counsel them.  I warn them of the pitfalls of accumulating too much STUFF.  Also, I read my poem to them and send them a copy.

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