ready made one

lines along a dishtowel
sugest plots unfolded,
life along these lines.
possibilities in blue, say,
might-have-beens parallel and stark
against the white of outer space,
of god and of the blazing desert
that divides option a
from options b through z:
deep channels flow due west
furrowed, relentless, unaware
of one another.
how depressingly linear;
how rude of the towel,
how meek of every dish.

how encouraging to see
such a model soiled,
crumpled, wet with effluvia
of household living:
discarded with lines
askew and tangled.
a house well-ordered
wants a bit of mess
to shrug against
whatever implication may lie behind
the unknown loomer’s lines.
this is why the house of the wise
falls into disarray, begins
to smell, attracts and feeds cats,
settles softly into its pillars,
quietly sags without apology,
and finally stops
replacing the towels.

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