Washing across the stability
Of my house, and me,
A wave of mail order catalogs,
No ebb, come the bills and fees.
Unable to focus on small numbers,
Paper airplanes fly--
Notes jotted,
Plans plotted,
A list with all the i's dotted,
Washed me back to this back shore
Some time back.
I sit amongst these papers,
Confusion up to my eyeballs.
Where I should start
To invite chaos
To take his burdensome over
Coat and leave?
Is it a lack
That keeps me ensnared,
With these material crumb of chaos?
Or is the concept of chaos
My comfort?
I sit and ponder
The flotsam and jetsam
Hoping it's all a delusion,
As I await the arrival
Of some repair fairy
Godmother
In this land of confusion.
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