Diary Entry
A poem
July 14th
Very unproductive day:
began insidiously – the trouble:
a few rowdy questions
about the meaning of life,
and why write poetry, etc.
Should have gone out, there
and then, hunting, perhaps, miles
away from it, the trouble, I mean.
Was soon stormed
by a rabble of doubts,
making absurd demands.
No use reading Pascal:
you had to be a betting man
to get peace of mind.
Too late to extricate myself;
indecisiveness prevented me
from doing anything decisive
the rest of the day except
thinking about writing about
writing “rien” in my diary
like old Louis xvi,
while I still had my head.
© Nemo 2021
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An interesting muse on the lack of a muse where ‘je regrette rien’ is true in another vein – like sliding down Occam’s Razor using your cojones as brakes. Mitch
That sounds painful. Thanks for commenting, Mitch.