An Organized Desk Means An Organized Mind
I can’t find it, of course.
It must be buried,
A kind of virtual corpse
Under or amidst that pile
Of papers, that horrendous clutter,
One sure sign of a muddled mind;
And that sets me off, bounding, like a frightened hare,
Into the underbrush of a billion ideas,
First one way, then the other.
If you graph it, it’s like a scribble,
An abstract meandering across the page
As if life were no more than a fictional fable.
O, don’t tell me there’s more to it than that.
I really do hate when people say,
Evolution, evolution is the way up.
To the clouds perhaps, into the mist.
Well, maybe that is where my papers went.
Should give up. But first
I’ll look under this pile on my desk.