Fearful of forgetting I make a note,
Commit the thing, the task, the thought.
Lock away the insanity of five-fold remembering.
Ageing and augmented I sometimes doubt
My latter-day recall even measures three.
In saving this treasure of tomorrow’s requirement,
Like Mark Twain and Leonardo, like Ernest Hemingway.
Scheduling deeds for the dawn’s early dimness,
I pretend a loose binding to those threads of greatness,
By saddled-stitched fetishes of pocket stationary.
The drawer above the desk is primed with gifted blanks,
Accumulating more quickly than written requirements.
They remain welcome, fully unloaded with latent potential.
You might need these. They’re nice anyway, and,
You never know, one day you might have an idea!
Old notebooks dog-ear the attic in stacks.
Thin blue school ones, covers bag-buffed to a soft peach,
Osmaroid medium-broad quinked stories and histories.
Inscrutable red-lined reporter’s pads, perpendicular Arabics
Of alien Pitman’s encoding other voices in graphic silences.
Listed, struck-through, fighting the mind’s failing,
Like climbers’ friends springing safety into an overhanging face.
Notes holding fast beyond memory of purpose,
Tangled loops of taught Linear B, struggling to grasp
The expired desires of once dynamic intent.