bare thoughts get wrinkled

with a mess of dishes to wash
my other self’s lost
still full of wishes
now time and space
(younger and younger
than i’ll ever be)
will take care of stuff

on and on i go
too busy to bother
to answer to needs
that i don’t care
yet they are there
all gray matter
colouring life’s material
flowers, patterns
routines – all fragile
as the skin of my hands