The job awaits
Two more ghost writes
Before I am finished
But I am putt-putt golfing, creating rainbows
For no apparent reason.
My novels whisper to me
Yanking at my hair
Even as I sleep
Yet I insist on tossing colored balls
Around this stupid screen.
My painting--still unfinished--
Lies winking at me
Dried long since
While I make ice cream sundaes
For impatient customers.
Tell me that you do not understand.
Call me retarded, and you'll be more than right.
Urge me to put the time wasters down
To turn the television off
And return to the life I know is mine.
Perhaps I'll listen to you
As soon as I can finish this Sudoku...