Because my will

Because my will is weak,
tired as a Tuesday afternoon,
I stare, not with my eyes, but with my toes,
my feet outstretched, craving the ability of sight.

Because my will is weak
I gather mustaches and turtleneck sweaters,
tackle them to the corkboard with hair pins,
glitter them with glue and ground up birth control,
hoard baseball hats and sunglass cases, college football t-shirts,
other things that smell of strength
and are made of muscle.

Because my will is weak
I do not bake my bread with yeast,
I do not double lock my door,
I do not lace my shoes.
I am go ahead and run along and hurry up.
I am leave behind and straight away.
I am no more time to spare.

I am the collector.
I pile, build
and stand upon the mountain side I've made.
Because my will is weak.
And I want so very badly to be strong.