From Poems from a Recent Future

Days

The days went by, leaves in the wind; just passing and falling to the earth.

Yes, we watch them; not all of them, one or two perhaps, and then we were bored.

The days offered nothing anymore; we looked for new ways, new entertainment but could find none.

we were left alone with our days.

They came to us like clockwork until, in the end, we were sick of days and felt as a goose must feel,

locked in a box and propped with corn.

We bloated ourselves on our days and we the last one finally did come, we begged pitifully for more.