Fraught with so many to-do’s
this In-Box became the mistress
a long time ago.
She rules over my day
and I acquiesce
silent, reluctant, compliant.
I never thought it possible
a despot in my time
in this place
at my age.
At times I try to protest
and change my condition
but every try falls
into an echo of vapid intentions:
immobility.
Time is held and with it my dreams.
Purpose,
the ignis fatuus of our generation
deceives my young soul.
Besotted with the learned hopes
of meaning —what meaning?—
I find myself playing the pond
in this gambit she calls my life.