A Thoughtful Sweep

I stare up at the ceiling,

Where the ceiling meets the wall.

And empty out my thoughts

That have such a putrid gall.

Spinning them into a web

That I hope to leave behind.

But those words will never leave,

Never falter, always entwined.

But I can still imagine them

Pinned up and on display.

Then think about a feather duster

Sweeping the webs away.