i compartmentalize chaos into mahogany cabinets and maple bookshelves,
careful to capture and separate spare seconds
into particular piles of pristine parchment.
the library of my mind features fine wooden furniture,
worn leather chairs and brown lamps with yellow green detailing
that sends satyr-shaped shadows skittering across the walls.
elegantly engraved carob trees adorn wooden panels left otherwise uncovered,
occupied by spirits and sprites who lounge lazily among lush limbs
with leather-bound journals in hand.
these journals,
stolen from scrupulously stocked shelves,
hold our lives between cherished covers and remember all those things
we desperately fear forgetting.
also present in this sacred section of subconscious,
an anachronistic espresso & gelato counter serves patrons
from stainless steel equipment using top-of-the-line ingredients.
without pressure of profit,
portions are generous and coffee is complimentary—at least until the third cup.
plush armchairs and brown sofas provide convenient locations
for contemplative conversations,
safely removed from the sanctioned silence of the southernmost space.
in the middle of it all,
an elongated executive desk remains covered in spare bindings,
unused covers, and empty earthen mugs.
it should be no surprise
that i live in my head.