diary

I enter here fingers ,lost hairs, some minor forgetfullness, a piece of headache i lay , unwrapped and curled, by the unpainted wall, here i dispose of a piece of wire i kept, a rusty lock i kept, a smile not taken, some things i bring to rest on the cushioned,chairs,beds, or padded posts and floors, some i take with me , back, to unprotecting light or rain, some to muffling dust, and choking ,as on a noon day drying in the plains, but in the killing mornings, when i digress out in the flagging map, i caress the thought of my careless cache, of my unguarded bunker, safe and secret in the dust.