The carpet started whispering tax advice
to the chandelier,
and the chandelier nodded
because it finally felt understood.
My left shoe filed for emancipation
claiming it deserved
a life beyond sidewalks
and the tyranny of gravity.
A flock of clocks migrated south
for the winter,
leaving time behind
like a forgotten suitcase
full of unpaid emotions.
I tried to open the refrigerator
but it screamed
that it was tired of being
the family therapist
for spoiled leftovers.
So I sat on the floor
and negotiated a peace treaty
with my own reflection,
who insisted it was the original
and I was the counterfeit.