trashcan:  land of the discarded, unused, an orange peel striking up a hopeless conversation with a gum wrapper, punctuating sentences with periods of coffee grounds.  because this is where nothing matters because already we have been decided against, on the other side of the great division between worth something and worthless, fallen off the wrong edge of the karmic recycle circle, doomed to rot with a faded forgotten form like an old ad for cigarettes no longer in style, waiting for worms and rain.  some dim hope springs up, though, in this trashbin, whispers through it’s plastic bars, that a reunification of  wasted elements, a man with spent match legs, old milk carton body and a mind of receipts and purchases past, will swell up from refusal, will dwell despite ourselves in unrealized memory of what we lose.