it takes me all day
to finish a bowl of soup;
it is cold and sits on my desk.
i chip away at it until it's gone.

i feel like i'm holding
a pile of Lego bricks,
sorting them by color
instead of connecting their parts.

my eyes wander to
only what interests me,
and i tend to move by
either branching or spiraling.

my feet are running on hot pavement;
i'm exhausted,
and by the time i look around,
i'm in the same place.