To Clean Some Things

I sweep the floor
Nothing has happened, but it’s incredibly profound
I try to remember what my soul was like to be with
It’s far away, I can’t tell if I am in trouble
It seems that trouble is like water, formed into a raccoon
It comes to the door, late at night
In the form of a girlfriend who is mysterious
I know we made love, but cannot recall her face
She makes me breakfast, but it’s a ghost breakfast
Old books, magazines, recordings and tiny weapons
Who could shoot a gun the size of a sesame seed?