Hoarder Haibun (cluttered dreamscapes)

In the way I trip over old cords that lead nowhere, this is the way you trip over dusty dreams, machinations of projects and harder times in which you would whisper "I told you so" to the generations who told you it was too much- though in three decades time, they came to see the virtue of your ways, but me, no I am the demon, yes I am the creature who dares to call the old book trash, who renounces the water stained furniture, who blames the structure's problems on shoddy uncle-brother-neighbor craftmanship from people who knew much less than they'd admit, I am the beast who speaks of yard sales and thrift stores, of moving shelves, the cannibal calling professionals over relatives, who roars at unannounced visitation, the wicked banshee who lords over the thermostat while holding sweaty, screaming children, wounded messenger crying out-

I am the monster

come to feast on broken homes

Nostalgia, it weeps