Too many hours
own the day.
To do the things
I wish to do,
I make a list called
“things to do,”
and I become spoiled for choice
and choose to do nothing
over frantic task-rabbiting.
I set out
to check my list
and focus on one,
and when I hone in
like a pigeon,
time flies,
the moments expand,
and I find there are no
hours I can find,
there is never enough time.
Then sleepy eyes
visit me in the throes
of tumbling down these rabbit holes
and I am oddly at ends
with what I have just begun.
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