Spring Clean

by John Stocks


On a day of April light, scalpel sharp
I cleared my drawer of receipts, tickets,
Of fragments, tiny teardrops of poetry,
A contorted collage of narrative and dreams,
Half-stifled screams, images and resonance.

It leaked reminiscence, revived
Odd moments from my own mythology,
Dissipated love and death together;
Torn, fading scraps, burnished with regret,
Pages shivering with souls deceived.

I weeded it in stages, discarding
Deep piles, all except the most assured
Marginalia, the rest just tossed,
Falling easily like love’s confetti
Into the shredder of oblivion.


Copyright © 2011 by John Stocks

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