What business is it of yours
where these words came from?
This is not a briefcase.
My mind is not a tidy desk.
Inside this head you will not find
a file cabinet of neatly arranged ideas,
or immaculately kept warehouses of metaphors.
Instead it is a mess.
A postmodern inspired mess.
Complete with bins full of awkward sounds,
ideas half-cocked and incomplete flung throughout
and dusty old poets whispering their words
across acres of broken tables.
Today, and all other days, my office is in my head;
unclean, unkempt and far from businesslike order.