Writing is one of the things
I put off behind to-do lists.
And so, today,
in an act of rebellion,
I write,
with my to-do list off to the side.

I write right now
in my smelly kitchen-
something, somewhere is decomposing
and I will find it
on my to-do list.

Right now the snow storm
we’ve been waiting for
is doing it’s best work-
flinging flakes down at a rate
I can’t clock but looks dead-weight
fast, until they slow and spiral
and it’s mesmerizing.

I won’t feel anxious
about not writing.
that guilt I reserve for what I value most-
my family and my art, both
groups neglected to a degree,
a liberal degree, because
I hide behind to-do lists.

this day is already racing by
like the snow streaking the window.

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