When you take notes you are not you
But a would-be gray non-conformist guy
Wearing pantaloons into early seventies,
The ones you reach way before your leg.
You collect your notes in a shirt pocket
To discard them when you reach home.
Or wear them like polka dots on your shirt
To hide the existence of tiny holes under.
As you take notes be adequately surreal.
You cannot make sense of life otherwise.