Until Then

Something’s gone off again.
Past the glass, the day’s bright.
You contemplate the line.

You could break it, make it
Clearly text scraps—forget
That you started to read—

What was it you started?
Something’s out of control.
You know how you know this?

Mild anhedonia, mild
But broadly expanding,
And really more like lack

Of feeling anything
Than like having a lack
Of interest in pleasure.

You’re not so anxious, now,
To let go the main chance.
You’re briefly less-concerned

With the end of supplies,
With being left alone,
With not being able

To complete any one
Of your tasks for today,
Of things you thought you chose.

And is this not a good,
Considered full circle?
The mythic future’s lost

A great deal of its grip on you.
So here you sit, feeling
There’s a gap in this text,

The lack of caring what
You might be compelled
To do next, until then.