(explain)

Hard to explain
the sense of well-being
I get, slipping
my cookbook
from its rack.
Orderly at last,
a fact forgotten
since I last –
has it been that
long since I cooked?
Oh well, I rarely
use recipes.
Sometimes I fear
too much order,
that completion
only ushers in death.
I live a ragged,
loose-ended life,
assuring longevity .
“If I worked all day
until the day I die,”
I say as I am
going to bed,
“I still will not
be done,”
with what there
is to type &
file.

I always think
system is the answer,
then again it
could be
indifference.
It’s just that the
lurking uncertainty
of the dark drawers,
things I don’t recall,
that free-fall into
my life,
that organizers
& schedules
never seem
to halt.

10/20/99