Write a novel

It’s on nights like this that you

think of writing a novel

a night like this follows a day that while,

not bad or sad, but middling and tepid,

reminds you of how unremarkable it is

that days like these and nights like these

are all you can fall upon to call your life

 

and you think of writing a novel

because it would be putting a finger on what

substance you feel gilds your mind

your heart, the quality of your thought

that people all around who take their positions

to judge worth and not-worth

can see and read and admire and

quantify

 

people, after all, are all that matters

one is pressed in always by people

caked clodded crammed with people

and what good does it to a soul

to be just a person down the aisle

along the corridor on the bus

but feel so singular

all the same?

 

It would make far more sense to write

a novel and tell a tale in that great

expanse than to think about what life

what night you settle into only

to wake up tomorrow and find it all

the same.