Toss the clutter
to the clouds.
What I want is not inside
cramped closets
stuffed with miscellaneous mistakes,
noisy knick knacks, and
the burly bones of the past;
I buried my beast long ago.
Excavating me,
like digging my way out of
a cave that’s collapsed;
I used to gasp,
wheezing sourness
a hollow tomb,
conserving breath,
biding time to death.
Once resigned grave,
make room!
I am exiting you
like my own womb.
I’m leaving these flowers
strewn for a lover
with no antiquities to hide;
he left his fossil
in the carpet of my pride.
Will my future self
heed the imprint
over great divide?
Even in closeted darkness
only this future turns key,
removed a screen,
help me complete
my last spring clean.
Artwork: “Wheels from the Clutter series” Will Sturrock
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Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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