some people probably find me boring

pessimistic anxious worried dreadful

and too highly aware of the wrongdoings

in the world as well as wrongdoings in

my own soul (and yours too) but the day’s

been wasted like most Saturdays I’ve

not talked to anyone done anything and to

release some kind of banal discomfort

I keep talking to myself the day’s not

over the light’s not tucked yet behind the

pitiless shield of night