So off

 Everything is off.

When everything is still there, 

Everything reminds you. 

Everything needs to be disposed of, somehow

Every twenty years at least. 

Every time a person goes home

They can't just be faced with 

A dustier version of everything they always loved. 

Instead every so often everything needs a good

Toss in the trash. 

Imagine my loneliness, 

A preacher of pitching

In library school.

But everything, and I mean everything 

Is such a dusty shadow of itself 

And shadow selves are not part

Of my year ahead, no sir. Everything

Except this one incredibly old

Bottle of shampoo

Has got to go

to get me back

To loving the past.