My brain is magnetically predisposed to lists.
Out of thin air, I will new lists into being of items
no one but myself has a curiosity.
One day, it was apartment movies.
Another, it was directors who married their leading ladies.
My favorite was my wishlist for Hot Ones guests.
Looking at my daybook for January,
I see that I started a list of potential Oscar Hosts –
and, maybe I’d had a glass or two of wine because among my wish hosts
were “extras from Seinfeld.”

The sense of overdrive for accumulating
unrequested minutia is the last refuge left
for the 21st century. Or, so that’s the conceit.

Everything has been accomplished
so now all that’s left is to catalogue it.

Will the end of the world
be a flash, or will it be a slow collapse
that finds us accelerating our lists for a
memory no longer required?

Note to self: List all my favorite disaster flicks.