Most of the time I stand around all day,
Suck air, whistle breath, dress, lie down,
Wait for late arrivals, call out lost names.
Most of the time I stand around all day,
Sleepwalk bald streets of the blank town.
Most of the time I read, page after page.
Sometimes I get up, put the pen down,
Face the wall, outstare the clock. Again.
Mostly I mark the time in which to age,
Stargaze the ceiling, eye the sullen town,
Sleepwalk as knowns become unknowns.
Most of the time I scribble with my pen.
Suck air, whistle breath, dress, lie down.
Wait for late arrivals who are late again.
Like things that rise, often I fall down.
Mostly I mark the time in which to age—
The wan clock on the wall. A lost name.
This sleepwalking town. The broken day.
Get up, lie back down, scribble on the page.
Mostly I read the same books over again.
This is life, circling around the sullen town,
Watching the clock, sitting around all day.
There is sleepwalking, then the lying down.
Waiting for unknowns to become knowns.
Calling out lost names. Why, I couldn’t say.