To Get Things Done



It’s all an illusion: to carry a
Coffee full and fret a
Little if it will drop on the white
Rug or if it will scorch your
Tongue. Eventually every cup
Goes cold and empty, just dregs
And those impatient jitters
To get things done, hop on the
To do list and move.

That’s best: don’t
Sit too still in the
Early morning breeze inside the
Screened-in lie of
Beforehands. Better to drown out
The siren sweeties calling out
Their what-ifs with the
Hammering bills of the
Pecker finding breakfast inside
The dead.

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