Work In Progress

I am the prologue to the book unread, a Haphazard shuffle of uninteresting side notes, Jot down during commercial breaks of Wild Kingdom, Crumpled atop a cold congealed T.V. dinner. Some kind Of meat in gravy shades of brown and grey. I am the finished third chapter written And forgotten in favor of cartoons, broken Crayons and ice cream, left dangling On the precipice of meaning waiting To be relevant- at the edge of a magnificent Forest- Magical fantastic happening two steps away. I am the magnum opus literary Work- from the author yet to write, Stuffed away among old schoolwork and bad drawings and Absent doodles, dried glitter and Macaroni sculptures.