Poetry About Chaos

Papers lean in three unfinished towers. The phone rings beneath a fallen coat. Every task claims the nearest minute. Thoughts collide before they become sentences. Then one hand clears a square of desk. Order begins no larger than the next breath.

Look past the first familiar name. The phone rings beneath a fallen coat. The smallest detail changes the scale. Thoughts collide before they become sentences. What seemed simple gathers another meaning. Order begins no larger than the next breath.

Papers lean in three unfinished towers. Time moves, but the image does not leave. Every task claims the nearest minute. It returns us to disorder, overload, unpredictability, noise, creative energy, and the search for one workable next step. Then one hand clears a square of desk. The day continues with a more attentive heart.