elimination

as i clean my apartment,
rumination or is it
meditation since I count my breaths
or is it rumitation...

i dig through old college notebooks
and think about who i have been
reading old lines where
there is no beauty to me it seems
just myself and reality
both ugly

even still, a kicking regret
in my shoulders and neck
tight like a moving van
thinking those lines
could have at least been less lazy.
could i have not been a worse realist?

even after some minor notion
of empathy had begun to take hold,
the mememe and the themthemthem
still were platitudinous and farfarfar too
desultory

now filed away under to-do
i wonder what it would mean
to just throw it all away
nopenoway...too cliché