Scars and scabs Come leaking out in drips and drabs After events that occurred And events that shouldn't have Sand on soles go walking into shoes And embed themselves there within Shards of glass buried deep under the skin Wiggle their way to the surface again And when life warms to the call of the sun We pack it all back, for morning has come Old things get beat down until purple and plum For newer less blue things to be squeezed under thumb I worry about my mind and its multitude of storage rooms Filled with undealt with boxes and musky fumes Now stuffed to capacity Those come leaking out too They tare through the surfaces that have long since been plastered And sawed down and painted and polished afterwards Now my body, heavy and ***** with these returning things Sheds them part by part in painful rebirth And after I've been made naked of these morsels in my mind I'll pack new boxes in my empty storage rooms from time to time For a peaceful heart is a dozen a dime But none is as interesting and messy as mine