My Bin Is Full
My bin is full
Rubbish arrives every day
And takes what time I might have left
To simply throw away.
Its energy is ceaseless,
Its will to be, absurd,
Its essence, non-increaselessness
(though I doubt that's a word).
In truth, what I fain cling to,
And hold my essence at,
Is what I must unsling to,
And simply useless tat.
What I must throw, or just let go,
Upon the rubbish heap,
Is what was me, and I decide,
I need no longer keep.
Reality is never where we live.
We live, wherever we meaningfully live,
Forever.
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