Paralysed. The thousand tares and sweet affairs
That leave me free to seek the lowest ebb
Of things to do in place of taking steps
To put what must be done to action; so many snares
Distract the eyes from what intentions are
To something less productive; yes! but one last kiss—
Procrastination’s always there—the prize without the risk.
And who’s to know if what’s been planned’s replaced by what so far
Favours fortunes to the whore, the comforts of a song, or one more peek
Through some holy hook, a slight diversion in the day to while away the hours?
Where’s the witness to the tragedy of the shadow of the light gone sour?
“What’s the use?” he’s heard to say as in the dust he seeks
Another route to something more than the rhythm and the beat
Of phatic sweets in favour of smoother roads and richer streets.
…painting by Olga Chernysheva, Tretjakovka, 2002…