cluttered raze sift through the mess of inert matter that litters the flat face of your dresser, and in the thick of the expected assemblage of receipts and dusty plastic tombs for glasses with prescription lenses that have outlived their usefulness, you might find a string of plastic beads dug out of the dirt that pockmarks a public park, the watch you wore when you were too young yet to feel time falling away from you, a conclave of elastic bands (some snapped, some still intact), pencil shavings sheltered by a clear red plastic canister, a thermal sock with a hole in its soul, and the phone numbers of friends who have all forgotten your name, scrawled on small squares of coloured paper. 250403 what's it to you? who go blather from