In Which I Muse on the Penalty for Pack-Rattery

I've lived in this apartment for five years.
Well short this is of the old psalmist's span.
The volume of the stuff that here appears
Belies that some. To move, I need a plan.
The Collyer brothers would be right at home
In here, but they might find it much too clean.
The jumble though, through which I now must comb
Would be to them a most familiar scene.
For what I lack in high newspaper tow'rs
I make up for in furniture and books;
To say naught of the clothing heaped in bow'rs
By my dog, or the gadgetry for cooks.
I start to pack and then I lose the heart,
Still paralyzed on how or where to start.