All afternoon, I have tried to clean this space,
It is not an easy task; it calls for a harsh dominion,
A fierce exercise of will. Each paper is a palimpsest
And all the oddments seem worthy of redemption.

I begin quietly, ripping up evidence.
Then a fury builds, my hands become fire,
I scorch through the undergrowth
Flushing out the furry mammals of old ambitions.

Yes, Emily, now a formal feeling comes.
I understand the extended self; it was here
Sprawled over this table, doppelganger of my mind.
It is here now: flat, brown, coffee-scarred.