i want to keep my dust

cultivate book shelf foreheads
a whole house 
just for dust
the door with hinges on both sides
no knob
there's no room for anyone else
in my dust
just fingers drawings 
tally marks
count days in the dust
count weeks in the dust 
count hours in the dust
watch the dust grow like
a pond of flurries
the muck 
the green
count flecks of skin
count flecks of planets,
there's Mars in the dust
sometimes Saturn 
often dead stars
dip in to taste a pinkie-full
no dryer lint 
but the smell of hair
whose hair?
i'm not letting anyone see this
these are my textures 
to caress    
cull for sounds
this is what i will use
my family's old house for
when they've all given
themselves to dust
falling onto the kitchen floor
as dust shadows
the outline of a body in dust
never clean 
any of this up
i want the dust to grow
so loud 
scoop up in hands 
wild throwing back into the air
inhale the dust
live inside one lung 
with dust for a carpet
exquisite dust
delicious dust 
holy dust 
a pouch of dust
where the old skin 
tries to make an old body
dust is rouge
wants to have legs
wants to taste like soft pretzels
no one else can come here
there's just no room 
i'm here to calm the dust
tells tall tales
until all my dust
lays down 
so i can leave
barefoot prints