Planner

His wall was a cacophony of apps
all promising to organise better
a mind prone to morbid
introspection
unpunctuated

and used to scraps of paper

to-do lists

unbuttoned collars

analogue.

The problem was
the epiphanies did not sync to all devices,

a curse of options:
keys thrown into wells.

He wasn't short of good advice,
a derangement of it,
mouths set upon themselves.

You could never be sure
if they were wings, pinned

a murder of crows

or a colloquy of helping hands

fidgeting over his body which yearned
to vacate touch,

Planner

but couldn't understand the optimal spacing
to achieve the requisite solitude
for survival.

He kept shifting the existing materials.
He would not delete.