Oh no, not more poetry

Because I don't know when to leave well enough alone, I dug out one of my archival hard drives and found some poetry I wrote years ago, when I was stuck up to my elbows in existential mire. Oh, boo-hoo. But these two short poems are relevant to my current life. I'll explain after.

Mañana

he keeps a checklist in his head
unchecked
except in dim, empty hours
filled with shameful resolve

in the morning, yes, first thing
but first the other thing
and the thing before that

yes, good, there’s the plan

except, well, that other thing
that can’t be done until that thing
that can’t be done is done

the domino pieces fall sidelong
into fluffy white impotence
making a sploosh of excellent intent

later, yes, that’s the plan

Status Report

Up on blocks under a tarp,
in a weedy corner of his lot in life,
dust- and web-covered ambition awaits entropy

Flawless plans,
plotted under the influence of youth
and powered for a season by naivete

Sound in principle last time he checked,
needing but a splash of fuel, a jump,
and the repeal of inertia

How is this relevant? These days, with my super-simplified van dweller life, there are no more actual or virtual piles of un-started and unfinished crap. All that anxiety is gone. Small life = small worries. It's great.