A perfect cesspool—
things growing in the fridge: some kind of ecosystem there.
Possessions strewn everywhere: old shirts that no longer fit.
Moving boxes left unopened.
Never got around to arranging some of this
furniture.
The place is in such a state
that I have years-since forgotten
entire aspects of it,
whole rooms and hallways and back doors
and back yards:
the rediscovered country
that I knew before knowledge
I wake up there sometimes
and the moment I think to try
and draw a map
is usually just the moment I wake up here.