It’s boredom seems most seductive to me.
Bright daylight, supplies for my basic needs,
No recent injuries invalidating me, and hours,
Very rich hours, undefined continued time
With nothing and no one demanding anything.
I couldn’t care less if I’m on a swank balcony,
Perched on a cliff, or peering from a motel.
I’m not too particular about the cave behind me,
So long as I’m well supplied with food and drink
And plenty of texts to read. What I want
Is that sense, that nepenthe, that expanse
Of unmarked, unremarkable time in front of me.
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