Nine of Wands (reversed) by Robert Beveridge

You pull another box
from the wall. Open it.
Its contents go somewhere,
be they rabbits, books,
pieces of anatomy
preserved in specimen
jars. There are shelves,
there are bins, cupboards
whose design is senseless
enough to be of alien
origin. But all hold things,
all sit in silent judgment,
await those items that fit
best. You pull another box
from the wall. Open it.

Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in The Nixes Mate Review, Violet Rising, and The Road Less Travelled, among others.