At work. Not happy. Feeling crappy. Not working. Need to. Can’t seem to. I’ll type now. I promise.

Haven’t done diddly-squat
Tomorrow I’ll be on the spot
Writing here not over there
Try harder pretend to care
Next to me the computer hums
Try to care try to care
The beat for beer, my brain drums
Middling rhyme numbs
Poetry in the slums
I got the dumbs
Mums
The word
Turd

I just want to leave. It’s 3:36 and I haven’t done much of anything. Not exactly true. I’ve written here about not having done anything. Quite extensively.
Instead of Lost Weekend, we could write (we?) Lost Month, The Lost Life – that must have been done.