Clutter Poem by Lynne RBC

This clutter needs to be arranged.
I see it on my desk
but I know
it's coming from my brain
mismatched with my heart
and I don't know where to start.
Suddenly, I feel the urgent need to sort
it's gone neck-deep
too laborious to exhort.

Do bigger files go to the bottom
like the memory box of that
eternal night
where everything was just too right
but wrong?
NOw, where does that belong?
Do these books of thoughts
get filed by height,
by bookmark
or by affinity?
Those likely
I'll be reaching for
on a restless morn
will find a place
on my bedside table, for sure,
beneath it, are those that come
with brief allure.
Do I need to read each of these notes
to know
which ones should go?
Letters, bills, poems, doodles.
Idle thoughts can reveal bundles
about these voids
between what I touch and feel,
what are done and still.

Don't look for me
I'm buried somewhere
sorting
things i need to dispose or recover.
Trying to discover
my way out from this
superficial mess
or some deeper distress.
When I'm finally close
to getting uncluttered
Perhaps it's easier
to start
and scatter.