Invocation
Ye dust bunnies, clumps of hair, old pie flakes and lollies
and ye crumbs of food and grime, left near
the computer: by smudgy handprints
and splatters of food, that have run down the walls.
May you all dance for my vacuum in it’s
grandiose pull. May light bulbs be changed,
and music’s volume be cranked. By the slime
on my bench and the grime in my fridge,
the sludge in my shower, have I lived
alone and unaware, comfortably numb of
the dirt that helped blind me to
all that is real, the dirty windows that
blur my sight. By all of this I will
clean my flat. May the walls be sugar soaped
and the floors vacuumed. May mopping of lino and
scraping of shit, and the removal of coffee
stains be ripped from my life.
Then I will empty
the trash and compact all the crap and this wilful
collection of dust, and bury myself deep in this
mountain of shit, until I am the ghost of an absurdist
character waiting for death.
your poem made me laugh with it's unflinching honesty :) Of course I get that its more then about just cleaning - "dirty windows that blur my sight" speaks to an inner turmoil. This builds nicelly to the ending where you introduce the concept of absurdism and death.