Distraction

Looking to the side
I think
About anything else
Than that which is in front of me
Is it avoidance?
Not exactly
That is still in front of me
That which I'm not thinking about
But not because I'd rather not
But because I am actually not
Or would I rather not?
It's not exactly clear
Is there a desire to utter the perfect...
Phrase?
Maybe that's why anyone looks away
That which is in front of them
Is not ideal
Could not be exactly what
The imagination constructed
And there's a secret about the imagination
It's so many things at once
That imagining doesn't result in a thing imagined
It's more of a storm of things imagined
Where none of the things
And not even the storm
Could be picked out
And so the distraction
Is from the fact of the belief
That clarity might come out of the mind
Perhaps, vaguely
So I'll look ahead
Seeing what I'm doing
Making a mess
By making something more clear
Than the mess upstairs
And then I'll look out the window again