My desk is a mess. I cannot even see its 2×3 surface.
It is not enough to hold me.
On a good day, its piles and cups are contained, like organized chaos.
Today is not one of those days.
The piles slide, and the cups vomit out pens without my permission.
I ignore it for now.
The landslides begin, I can no long ignore the journals and index cards and paperclips.
It’s time to tend my garden.
Everything has a place, and must return to it.
But it can’t be too clean.
I operate well in a space that is messy-but-organized
So the architecture of my paper towers must be sound.
But nothing lasts forever, and soon I know that the inevitable will happen.
It will be time to tend my garden again.