The difference between discarding and throwing away

Shows when fingers take it, the long arm rises.

Whenever the thing came, today is its last day.

It has no more surprises.

The long arm swings out, and the dull object hangs.

A shuffle in the pattern of possession stops.

Then love, a door that was held a little open, bangs,

And whatever the lump was, drops.

Discarding means putting it in miscellaneous,

Pulled from the alphabet that included all.

Sometimes the eyes narrowing show how ridiculous

It is to think this cruel.

The fingers pinch a corner, arm hardly moves,

Tossing it to a mixed pile off at the side.

Occasional re-arrangement always improves.

Later one can decide.

What is decided later is that change is rewarding.

Need, nearness, are not forever what they were once.

It might as well be now. Throwing away or discarding,

There is no real difference.