I am
A feather duster.
Clogged with fears
and
Fluffy cobwebs
How odd
There is no more me
Only more
It.
A thing
a material kind of demeanour fling
slash
overthrowing one night plastic wonder
And I have found
myself
hiding beneath oblivion
and
a cheap stock price
Renewed,
exchanged
changed
paid with loose change
a chain of recurring events
Money making
plays me out of my
hiding spot
And I gross
in all vastness
the price times infinite
of what it took to create me
The other feather dusters
they
would be ashamed
to have me sitting with them
Because I cannot begin to
stop wanting more
More than an item of plastic.
a.l.h