My desk is never clean.
pipes and wads of paper
broken pencils and half full glasses of water
a mostly finished bottle of wine.
the cork is lying around here somewhere
my wax melter spilled little candles
and there is a thin layer of kief under my mat.
I do everything here
with a rolling chair I found
I'm not sure where anymore
draped coat arms dance when I spin around
in the chair, swinging up to say hello
to me, pen in hand,
a fresh glass of water to soon join the others
and a lamp that is too bright for my eyes