It is buried, I'm certain,
somewhere in this board-certified, award-winning goddamn catastrophe.
in this lamentable oscillation between self-indulgence and outright aggrandizement
it is small; and it can be sandwiched between any number of manila envelopes,
some lined with bubble-wrap, some not
and it's not even useful without its matching power charger.
I have to find my bluetooth earphones.
I've lost all my other wired headphones, in unparseable circumstances.
Some people hoard themselves out of living space. Because I'm already so cramped,
my hoarding is confined to a shelf top. What a mess! What an inconsolable mess!
Shadows of varied, contradictory dreams
on top of which inconsistency I sit now, telling others and myself I have my shit together
Because I'm waking up early tomorrow, I must have music
and because I'm trying to parse through my things it's getting later and later.
(First as tragedy, then as a farce, they said.
Money can't buy happiness, they said
but the objects under the dust I'm uncomfortably inhaling
are at material proof that I got to try)