Why do I wait? Why is it so painful to wait?
I feel like I’m waiting for Godot. Ignorant of
absurdity, compelled by expectation, hope,
where life on the road to nothingness . . .
is, well . . . at least living.
So what to do? Spend my time sleeping
cleaning, grooming myself, working,
preparing for the day when . . . dreaming
of the moment when . . . planning
and, well . . . foolishly waiting.
If she weren’t so special, I wouldn’t give a damn
I’d just say “next” and move on
Is there a threshold standard for that?
a point where one unavoidably concludes
that, well . . .I must be insane.
It’s the textures of life that add interest
the situations dealt and problems solved
relationships experienced, lost or kept
and now I’ve experienced absurd waiting
but, well . . . not for much longer.
The difficulty is judging when to stop.
It’s often that thin line of one more step
a little extra effort, or a little more patience
that determines success verses failureso, well . . . am I staring at success?