A Tripled Nonet on Waking (Poem)

is there anything more boring than

a poem about a strange dream

where the house is sold but you

forgot, and you haven't 

started packing, but

you must get out

next Tuesday

also

the

house is not actually your real house

it's a trick mirror version, all

weird angles and hidden rooms

decaying walls, brick dust

and everyone still

here, even those

who moved out

no one

gone

and you can't find or can't remember 

where all the paperwork is at

and no one wants to help pack

and when you try Googling

"packing services"

Google just gives

endless hits

of sad

poems