Plan and a plan, but the new map

decides in tandem random.

Only way for a writer like me to live–

extempore, exponentially.

Oui, and another, verses compound and 

surmount any mood or blockade

in my day–
I laugh laugh laugh,

and it frowns,

then more shoves from me.

It can’t stand me, people like me,

who swim around in pages

and skip when they should 

Trot so composed.  Or have that suit stroll.

No me not today not ever.

(6/16/16)