My four bedposts weep in the rain outside.

I put them there with the rest of my furniture days ago.

Now they sleep and cry on the curb, off to the side,

Replaced by bare thinking space in my sleeker, better home.

Clear the clutter out, but where do you stop?

The mind is a silly thing for telling itself that it understands,

Its very own sinews and impulses, from the bottom to the top.