Too More

Standard

Too many dishes in too small a sink
In a kitchen too cluttered with half-consumed drink
And too many hours I’ve spent unasleep
Reliving promises I’m too tired to keep
Glass constellated by too many flies
Like too-noisy stars in too-lowly skies
The too-timely clock tells me too often how
It’s too late to change into real clothes now
Too soon to recover, too late to go back
Too short a rope to keep on cutting slack
And yet this rope’s too tangled up to unscrew
One aspirin won’t do much, I’d better take two.

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