#166 Headclink. Written and published Jun 15
Within my den of thoughts: a din
of noises there to disarray
the righter way to think, to hinder
what it was to ordinate
or set aside for later dates the things
I have to get to at long last.
Constantly, a clinking set of dings
like glasses by a rail, passed
by thumping trains, that ring and ring
incessantly, or else demand,
manifest in cups and cutlery, calling
your attention to what’s at hand.
What purpose, this? What is there in
unfocussing on any single task?
Would that belcaming took the winds
from blowing me from my path.