Better than I Do. 

My thoughts,
my house
are both something of a mess.

I am finding it hard
to focus. There is no space
for new thoughts
and the old ones are worn and tired.

So it is time to stop doing
and clean. No plans. No strategy.
Just pick this up and put it there
a succession of tiny acts

that add up
better than I do.

About this poem

My house is a mess, a physical manifestation of “Things fall apart” by W. B. Yeats.  I handle clutter fine to a point. I think I passed that point this past week. I just finished putting things up in the kitchen. I feel better already.

As a child, I was notoriously bad at math.

From those things, this poem. Off to the next room.

Tom

PS – That’s not my house in the picture. It’s one of the Vanderbilt mansions, under renovation. Even under renovation, it’s more photogenic than my house.