Stuff, 

sends the moonlight quivering into dark corners

afraid to shed light upon all the dust.

Things

scattered through small rooms 

where the walls are scapegoated into hanging

grade school artwork as if a humble home

was the Cobra museum.

Cleaning up,

when guilt needs to compensate

 to quell a frustrated spouse

who grows tied of all the stuff

you have acquired, gained and bought up 

all which seemed essential yesterday

when there was more money 

to burn and places to 

in which to buy.