Not Here Enough
My attention caroms
like a fly in
a small, closed room:
colliding with invisible
walls, resting,
colliding, resting;
or like that fluff
the dryer whirls
in bits that catch
piecemeal on a mesh
sieve: throwaway stuff.
No wonder I can’t
get what I need
to get done, done.
I’m not here enough.
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