Executive dysfunction

I will not wash my face
I will not use the mail
I will not change the bulbs
I will not trim my nails
I will not set my goals
I will not having said I would I
cleaned the toilet and felt that
modest goals became me well I
tried to write anything, anything at all
other than in my own voice and
found that having no voice gave me
no way not to have my voice my face
is not washed I dream
only of garlic I flew in through the window
in a swarm of bees as soft as a wide silk scarf
I settled in my bed, my queen, I do
her bidding as a bee I have no face to wash
a bee is all body and so am I a bee
has no nails a bee cleans the toilet because
I said so a bee has only goals and simply
knows them and also flies and when you fly you
do not mail. And are we dying are we bees
or canaries? Will I finally lose the "I" no I
forgot to think about the bulbs but that is
where the garlic comes from and does garlic
like all things come from bees? Or what?