collector

i keep strange things,

meaningless to others:

a small red wax leaf

made with pushing 

thumbs at granny's 

dining room table

an unsharpened 

Washington Bullets

pencil with a fat pink eraser

a Spanish Garnacha 

bottle, drained long

ago and now corked 

with a drippy red candle

pictures and postcards

and phrases I liked 

post-its covered in 

passwords and user IDs

doodles I've clipped from

boring-class notebooks 

and taped into others 

words and words

and words and a 

strange oppressive 

guilt for everything I've

never said to your face

and the growing pile 

of things I want to.