I have just read a research paper that
Extolls the virtue of keeping messy tables.
It said messy tables helped exercise the muscles
That we exercise for thinking outside the box
So that they could have the strength to push
Against the weight of heavier lids to smaller boxes
Made to stand the test of time, trapping young minds
Inside the garbage bin of institutional problem solving.
I feel vindicated, moving my eyes from over
The brightly lit screen of my desktop
To the slightly sick scene of my desk top.
I see books that speak of the academic rigours,
I see among them, my favourite action figures,
In their full height they stand on used soda cans
And watch over the latest novel that lies facedown,
Marking the last page that forced me to frown
Before I could go on with it.
I see pens and markers, keys to lockers,
Unwashed coffee mugs, that talk of long nights
And longer talks with people long dead,
Talking through the longhand letters they penned
Despite the stronghand of their betters telling them otherwise.
I drink some water and wink some sleep out of my eyes,
Before I see loose paper, crumpled inside the fists of frustration,
Waiting to be straightened out at least once
Before the blackhole of the refuse bin consumes it forever,
Eating away the little sparks of light that managed to escape
From behind the edges of the writers’ block.

Originally shared with a dorm-mate in the Summer of 2014