The Illusion of Work
I like to flirt with homework,
lead it on, take it to my room
and feed it prawns
deep-fried in leftover effort
best for reheating later on.
Later on,
I cater too long to
paths that digress even farther from
procrastination,
I’m crawling pincer-first like a crustacean
chasing excuses like they’re bacon
or their equivalent,
fuck if I know—phytoplankton?
Still reducing time I could be spending
producing some fine work
but no, here I am indenting
these words, here words,
geared towards clear wars
with myself, I ruin my health.
My attention span is a conveyor belt
conveying hellish projects like Rubik’s cubes,
but the rubric is screwed
and the dude who sold it to me moved.
Interference, leave me alone.
I’m feeling low like baritones.
I need scarecrows
to steal my bones
so I can stop pretending
I got places to go.
And I can just settle down
like a pilgrim in the land
he thought he found,
and out of bounds,
I’m in the zone;
just me and homework
all alone.
Candlelight,
taking it slow
like tiny polite little dinner bites
cradled by a silver fork
I want to stab in my eye,
find out if I’m a werewolf.
I’ll either scream or die,
spoon-feed myself illusive lies,
as if because the book is open
it holds my attention without divide.
Try, try, try again
before you know it,
it’ll be seven AM
and your Facebook page will be glowing
three friends online
and you’re feeling as empty as the
circles open beside their name—
You’re good as broken.
Fucking tired.
Go to bed.
Coffee will get you wired,
for the class you’ll miss
and you’re reminded of an FML
that you read in the abyss
of last night
when you were at that site.
until page 27.
That’s right.
There’s no redemption
when you fail to mention
the reason why you need an extension.
You say you learned your lesson,
but there’s still some tension
between your truth and your inventions.
Especially when you’re catching up
from falling behind
last week.
You’re up shit’s creek,
knee-deep in Mudd;
Blitzkrieg, please just bop me some.
Last week,
you were up shit’s creek
knee-deep in Mudd,
(Here we go)
Blitzkrieg, please just bop me some.