Make Room

I would rather just sit here and make space
than go to work and fill it up with clutter.
a mess of pins and needles, notes and nuances,
intellectual property rights and lawsuits,
sweet racks and tight backs, he's going off track.
 
what i'm talking about is up here.
you know, that big ball of shit you carry on your shoulders
the thing people say you ought to have,
or if you don't, grow one. beats me
 
the back orders are piling up. chaos has struck.
lunch at night, dinner in the morning,
breakfast is a timeless snack. damn right
muscle degeneration engage.
 
organization renders laziness obsolete
yet, there are playboys in hot wheels, cruising
my neuropathic highways, eating chips with the top down.
get off the road, addictions coming through
 
every new thought is a browsing tab
open one, open ten, open a hundred
doing everything but what needs to be done
boxes of dreams and tankers of courage. warehouse 13, put 'em anywhere
 
the broom is lost. the stores are shut.
the maid has quit. the dust has stuck.
the mind is old. the heart is cold.
the broken back and shoulders, fold.
no more room left to stash the gold.