T'WOULDN'T BE SO NICE
And I am emboldened erratic.
This table before me is called
by varied names : I've heard.
Coffee table. End table. Well,
I guess that's it, and they're
not the same. Glass top
I awoke with a start last night,
thinking the following sequence.
1, 2, 3, 6. A nothing sequence, until
I realized that 1 plus 2 plus 3 does
equal 6. And then I couldn't figure
out if that happens with other
sequences, or if it mattered, or if
it did, how. 7, 8, 9, 24, doesn't
seem quite the same to me.
Nor does 4, 5, 7, 16.
Well, that's a humdrum existence
and I am driven to distraction by
many things. I think this laptop
upon which I type is working,
quite consciously, against me.
Screwing up words and line breaks,
jumping around, putting pieces
of sentences in the middles of
others, where they don't belong,
jumping and skipping my breaks
and words around and deleting others
which are suddenly highlighted to go.
Is there some entity I should call about
this, something to be done? Is that what
'ghost in the machine' should mean?
Now, I am lost in his highness the high
moon; the lunar fop who drives me crazy.
High sky, high-five, all that urban crap.
T'wouldn't be so nice if I just left.