Most days I don’t mind the mess
that fills my fancy, doubtless
in its mad mire growing grand
plans my desires demand;
but today, the turmoil seeks
to wreck my poor reason’s speech
and turn to tares the flowers
where I’ve worked long hard spent hours.
Voices volley in my head;
oh, that order would instead
cast this chaos to the void
before this day is destroyed.
13 APR 2004
