Seeking The Ultimate Mismatch

Elan Mudrow

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My clothes, bunched in a pile

Hiding inside wicker,

A fragile basket

After a cleansing wash

And a bout with tumble dry

Wanting to be rid of all dirt

Smells, and experiences

Of the last week

Or any week’s past

I’m not ready to hang them

In their place

Where plastic hangers

Await to reestablish the norm

Which is my norm

Which is our norm

Hiding in the closet

A constructed confinement

I pick them from the basket

Wrinkled, some of them

Others unaffected.

I pull at a sleeve, or a

Pant leg, the fuzz of a sock

A moment of chaos

Stretching seconds into

The loss of the final choice

Of the daily mix and match

Yet, they are the same

Once placed upon my body

Worn in the same fashion

As the week before

Contact will be made

Again

With the same old smells

Who was I fooling?

View original post 56 more words

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