Observancy Disassembling: Inversion

It hasn't hit me yet, I can feel it coming;
the rush of blood to the head, the vulgar flush;
like a freight train, late for stupid reasons;
Plain white bright light, moving;
yet, far enough away;
27 days.

The first CD that came off the wall
was the hardest - 50 more down, and
I'm a CD/pushpin removal expert;
craning my neck just enough
but, not too much - 7 hours of
carpet cleaning have already taken
their toll.

Tom Waits' Rain Dogs
came off the ceiling in pieces
leaving an articulated sliced disc
in negative; pristine paint swaddled
in the champa-stain memory
of this, my space.

I had to stop
to take in the process
no photos, please
but songs to take hold
of this moment; wrap it
and stow it away;
time will be when
I'll need the key, maybe
a crowbar, too.

I watched the gloaming
from this obstructed window;
poured a drop of something
insubstantial, yet essential
from each pore, no blood;
translucence - like a scent
breathed for years, then lost
for decades, to find it waiting
spun out of time, web-charged air
a step beyond
some strange door.

What have I wrought?
can I guess; there's no telling
what mischief waits no matter
the choice; the scenery changes
but the lessons are the same
until they're learned;
until their smell, alone
announces the change of skeins.

I built this web;
node and conduit;
paths and patterns;
structure and desire
wind, wave, and gravity
pressing me towards
some edge, not dark
but mystery lit, opaqued
by hanging time; signs
that only serve
to draw me on.

Today I decided to go.
And so, I begin to move;
shifted down, low gear traction,
meticulous detail springs
into focus, a fantasy of
stepping between moments,
every moment, solid and bright
observancy disassembling
storing itself away
for some tomorrow I cannot
yet begin to grasp.