clothing bin

i seek the disappear places.
pull my car over on the side of the 
licorice road to stuff bags of old clothes
into the mouth of a clothing donation bin.
i have never seen one emptied or open.
maybe there are black holes inside or maybe
there are just ugly clothes pressed against each other. 
when i am my saddest i like to think
of packaging myself up along with
musty jeans & dead sweaters. going 
with them into that metal dark. 
who knows how long they brace themselves 
for some kind of journey. i understand why 
so many religions have an element of waiting.
no one wants to arrive. to already be here.
maybe that is why i crave the parking lot
habitat. the wild trash. the sea gulls who long ago
turned in their ocean for a mouthful 
of rotten buffet. i don't actually want to be
carried away. i want to wait. i want to
hold my breath & consider a whole
new life. the socks dream of running feet. 
the bras of someone to hold. 
inside the bins, everyone can see just one
slit of light. sometimes on a glorious night
a traveler will come to deposit their face 
in the dark. the mouth will open & give us all
a glimpse of the stars.