Why do i feel this need to be busy?
That there is always something I must be doing
Be getting to
Be fixin to get up on
Almost about ready to
Do
That the task at hand
(Frequently formed as a phone)
Is somehow vital
And not enough
Because it’s always at least halfway about
the next thing
(Oh and you just wait
for the next thing
I hear
It’s going to be amazing)
Why does my mind divide
Between the this and the then
Always trying to peer over the bright horizon
Squinting into the glare
Trying to catch the best opportunity that i see
hurtling toward me
Against the inscrutable light of the then
Always rising in somewhere’s east
While i trip over my shoes
H
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The next thing