I enter here fingers ,lost hairs,
some minor forgetfullness, a piece of headache i lay ,
unwrapped and curled,  by the unpainted wall, here
i dispose of 
a piece of wire i kept, a rusty lock i kept, a smile not
taken,
some things i bring to rest on the 
cushioned,chairs,beds, or padded posts and floors,
some i take with me , back, to unprotecting light or rain,
some to muffling dust, and choking ,as on a noon day drying
in the plains,

 but in the killing mornings, when i digress out in the
flagging map, i caress the thought of my careless cache,
of my unguarded bunker,
safe and secret in the dust.