the whirlwind
of to dos--
unwritten,
undone,
strewn about,
the cyclone of
what's lost,
forgotten.
The tornado chasers grow weary
from the futility of the pursuit
of these tornado thoughts
from the futility of the pursuit
of these tornado thoughts
Off the scale--
impossible to stop,
devastating
wreckage
strewn
all around--
the "to dos"
the must dos,
the crucial,
the undone,
scattered
everywhere.
Suddenly the storm stops,
the debris of dendrites
strewn about--
a wandering mind,
driven to distraction,
creative bursts,
a spirit of inquiry
impulsive answering,
the havoc wrought
by the tornado of her mind.
The recovery effort--
where to begin?
What to tackle first?
One thing begun,
interrupted by another
Two things begun,
both undone.
Needing redirection,
leaving out what's important
caught up in distractions,
never getting it quite right,
encumbered by her own whirlwind,
missing moments and losing sleep
lost in the violence of her own storm,
a self-created vortex of despair
missing moments and losing sleep
lost in the violence of her own storm,
a self-created vortex of despair
her tornado of thoughts.