songggggggg

A box. It exists.
On the floor. I wonder what's inside...
It's made of cardboard;
I wonder what it holds.
It's labeled in Sharpie;
fat streaks scribbled in black.
A hand while writing it that
must have been cold, perhaps lonely.

It's labeled "E-mails:
(all printed and stapled in two's)
Failed Conversations From Last June"
Subtitled "(no one cares about the Moon)"

A book. On the floor.
Near the box. I wonder what's inside.
Bound in mass market paperback...
Is it knowledge is it gold?
The pages are folded and kinda brown.
The bookmark's a yellow receipt,
that sees a new book every week;
it's from something like cigarettes a year ago.

It's titled "Land of the Living:
How To Return From Within You"
Subtitled "one hundred and fifty things you can do
(including walkin' off in somebody's shoes!)
(and maybe for once not carin' about the moon.)"