Sometimes I wonder how I can
go out at night, being
stared at by stars, indifferent but
knowing my business,
hearing the rows, the
peculiar silence of
just-slammed doors, the
attrition of life unlived, the
rows of books unread and
unwritten, the smell of
ambition lacking, goals,
projects, leaking from windows.
I turn up my collar, pull my
hat down, refuse to
look those cold
hard stars in the eye.