Chaos

My need to create far exceeds my need to sit still.
Have I reached that point when I can relax?
There are many empty spots waiting to be crammed full of memories,
like the hall closet, whose sole purpose is to collect
games of chaos, strings of lost chances, and coats of anguish.
It’s a repository of disorder: something small to control.
Chaos of one’s own making is so much more
liberating than the nascent depths of hysterical
despair lurking in someone else’s closet