I can't wait, the blip that makes anxiety latent
which stays as such
so long as the refresh rate continues to hold up
and there's something to refresh.
Can't wait, obliterated by comfort,
and then anxiety realises its boundless potential,
demanding your dream of being kicked out of
a car, in some backwater with a bag on your head,
any dream you can have of being reset,
so you can think outside of where the quandary of your comfort lies:
an anodyne coddle where your irradiating force
sucks towards you all the throws and cushions
from elsewhere in the house
and your lounge becomes a high watermark
for the packing industry.
That or comfort really is what you couldn't wait for
and it's crazy that we continually toe the line
where decision making is hemmed in
by the double resentment of having to wait
or knowing that now everything is typically religion
to the ascetic.