Observancy Disassembling: Holes

Packing my things away; a few
boxes taped; stacked; done-
the rest is disarray;
the process retarded,
passionless because, as yet
I haven't found the next place.

I feel my emotional anchor coming up;
slowly, drawn link by link -
a jarring inside me; tidal shifts of
current, mass, wind, and gravity;
balanced atop this weight,
rising from below.

I stop and, mindful
of the fragile clutter;
step out to grab a plastic bag,
or take a smoke break;
the reason doesn't matter,
every time is the same.

I leave behind the known;
patterns of comfort and personal order
which I have often seen behind my eyelids;
and, if I should jerk awake, or reenter
this room, from within or without;
and stop, and really see the change.

The ragged edges of the disassembly,
cavities eat away at jumbled shelves;
surfaces empty in time-lapse;
cleansed and wrapped and packed
against one another like days
in my habituated brain.

Puzzle-piece teeth sharpened on
blank walls which; perspective inverted,
seem to drip my life from them
into cardboard cartons that,
for a sharp moment,
seem more like depth-less holes.