scribbles

a scribble on the corner of my
fourth-hand obscure Penguin;
its aimless spirals
the tip of something of an
intellectual iceberg.
impenetrable and speaking in
a foreign language,
its weight in my head
presses my brain -
there will be no focus today -
not with this
chiding
not with these
jibberish taunts.
no;
today will be wasted.
a scribble on the corner of my
derivative life.