Pro-crastination

Procrastination fashioned

I don’t know if everyone sits on,

A plateau, relishing the view,

Of an effortless echo. Potential,

Is coined about me too often,

As I openly admit, that finish,

Lines daunt me. I know, from,

Experience, that I exceed, yet,

Still feel satiated, before the,

Completion. I think that it’s,

Because, my imagination is,

Vivid, so already considering,

A projects ending sensation,

Or maybe it’s because, I doubt,

Myself some days, thinking,

Tomorrow is best numerically,

Potentially, it’s just that time,

Is so fluid, I luxuriant in it,

With little else happening,

Either way, I simply enjoy,

The view, the flattening,

Landscape, flattery’s mews mapping.

I regularly conclude that it’s,

All these, so signal to myself,

To operate differently, yet,

Somehow, the same pace,

Becomes me instead, I’ll,

Manifest it, inertia gleaning, caffeine hit,

To thread. The last stitch, an,

Incumbent paralysis, perfection,

Neglects the hast of underrated,

Analysis. Possibly it’s timely,

To fathom it further, avoiding,

The dead stop of my reset,

Dis-order. In conclusion, I

Refuse to enter the panic,

The momentum will carry,

Me when it feels organic.

The causal reality, of rushing,

At tasks, is to not reconsider,

That final address.

Relinquishing pressure waves,

Not giving in, to demands, that,

Cause a prospective to bend,

Away from the all natural order,

Unfolding, it has independent agenda,

To that I’m obviously beholden.

Leave fragments of alarmist bells,

Enriched, yet just smouldering.

Boldly leave, for later, a rewarding.