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.