Saturday Night Untitled

simple tasks have become overwhelming:
the eyes of the wooden angles followed
my ascent across the room
to ungrateful curves of glass
trays, carrot sticks and
radish wholes a list of unfinished
errands dangles off my wrist
and they notice, strange: the distance
between myself and paranoid daily
clothing is so small, though I would act
as if no one was watching, yet from the
dusty portraits so far I am not
feverish I just have nothing to say
they’ll watch where I present myself
I am not for any kind of greatness,
as for this room