pessoa's daughter

i open the front door
to let the rain in, remove the musty
smell. old cigars, mildewed papers.
the need to be got gone. since i cna't
bring myself to publish and anyway
it's not that the stuff is publishable
a fire would be the best thing. quickest i mean.
i could let the mold stke over, eat words
slowly, over deceades or perhaps
centuries. decades probably.
but a fire, that would be a clean break.
nothing left but ashes that won't pull through.

but they can fly away, they can be washed off.
down the drain. into the ground, compost for
a new garden. today i pulled shepard's needles
from my yard. by the roots. they thread through
the weeds i want to flourish