memo:

by mangoprawns

Posted to Action Poetry on 2004-05-11 06:58:00

My swivel chair,
in need of grease and gas,
tilts toward a slow death.

I have long since turned
my back to the window:
I will not be reminded
by skipping children
or golfing fools

that the sum of my life
is somewhere in this pile of paper
that seemed so important
yesterday.