Not Even I Know Why I Feel Anxious Right Now

Not every night can be the best night ever.

That was a fact.

I wrote it, so it's true

I have to go outside to smoke a cigarette.

I bring wine with me because it is past five o'clock.

There are snowflakes in my Pinot Noir.

I didn't think I would have to wear this sweater.

I hear sounds of someone breaking into a house,

or hammering up a painting.

I think it is not a painting,

because a girl walks past the sound

and the sound stops.

Earlier today it was sunny.

We were walking over bricked sidewalks and sloping gutters.

I'm almost out of cigarettes and it is just past five o' clock.

It's a ten minute walk to the nearest bodega,

although no one calls it that.

I think I need some music.

I think I need a job.

I think that if I were in solitary confinement

I would not do well.

I would eat my hands. 

Today I read,

"Do you realize that all great literatures are

all about what a bummer it is to be a human being?"*

I'm scared again.

It's always true that the way out is by moving,

so I tell myself in times like this

to be like the shark

or the cement truck

because some people have no idea,

no concept,

of the shit they are walking past. 

...

(k)

*Kurt Vonnegut