
The days keep coming.
I try to minimize the impact
of one damn day after another
by staying out of the way,
making it find me.
I reduce my vulnerability
by limiting my exposure.
I don't ask for it.
Silence and solitude, kid.
Silence and solitude.
Silence and solitude
make the days work for their pleasure.
It helps to be unemployed.
Compassion also helps.
Compassion for the damn day.
A damn day's life can't be easy,
especially after all these years.
I don't care how much it might enjoy
delivering pain, anguish, sorrow and misery--
after a while that has to become burdensome.
The damn days have to long for a break
in the same wearisome routine.
They don't get a damn day off.
I take that into account
and imagine them needing a vacation,
wondering what they would do
with a week away from business as usual.
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