How The Nothing Noths

I guess,
I feel personally responsible
For the transition from night to day.

I no longer let myself sleep until after the sun has risen.

When you have done nothing,
For as long as I have done nothing and continue to do nothing,
The only things that happen
To you
Are the things that happen
On their own.

Rain, snow, trees dying,
Four columns one night of
Three lemon slices in three rows
Of four lemon slices, unexplained
On the sidewalk from the back door
To Tamor, with his bat and his
Friendly anecdotes of Lahore
And his pistol,
behind the counter,
In front of the Newports.

When you really do nothing
As I really do nothing,
The convenience store
Opens, and then closes,

Sometimes earlier,
Other times later.

Your life – no, wait –
your world is a mess.
There will come, finally,
A crepuscule of daylight,
During which time
You pick up the clicker
To change the channel
With the same steady hand,
At the same time
And with the same steady hand
With which Tamor had to shoot out
The right eye of a crack-brain
In the bloom of his youth.

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