Closet Poem
By The Poet Spiel
identities
cast back
to closet’s end
keeping hangers clean
as if by whim
one day
i’ll come upon
a sudden loss
of who i am
needs be seek back
to garbs
from other days
find familiar
forms of me
to slip within
but find instead
sleeves of muscles
long withered
and like the wrinkles
this dusty closet’s end:
a scrapbook
to be combed
by those unknown
who’ll choose the final
disposition of my identity
Copyright © by the owner.