8976. T'WOULDN'T BE SO NICE

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

notwithstanding.

-

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.