"Ode to the Collector" by Olivia Arcaro

February 4, 2018



fishing in the empty pool
gleaning from the hollow waste
it’s a dead end and a frigid case
yet you can’t accept 
what they have to say
always swearing that there’s meaning

will you ever learn not
to chase hearts that don’t want you? 
will you ever stop looking for
keys to doors with no locks?

playing in the abandoned playground 
prying through the deserted dreams 
collecting snippets, tidbits, echoes 
amongst the peanut shells and ripped seams 
and stashing them in your pillow case
you can’t resist searching for the place 
where it all holds some semblance of sanctity 
what catharsis are you looking for? 
what justifying clarity?

i’d like to see the tapestries you weave 
stealing the outtakes and nurturing the weeds 
manufacturing the fragments no one needs 
making a living out of ghost songs

digging in the shallow trench 
dancing on the grey terrain 
a love affair with the scraps and excess 
with the uncharted abstract in-between 

there’s no coming back 
when you scavenge off the outskirts
saving what’s meant to be forgotten
reviving what’s meant to be left behind. 


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