The Dilemma of Having Time

There are calls I need to make, people
I need to talk to, who are probably waiting for
me to say the things they expect me to say. And I
have nothing-except the silence of white noise
inside my head. Stupid phrase that, clunky way
to express the inability to express anything. But then-how
do you do that, without creating an  oxymoron? Words, like life,
have a way of staring you in the face at unlikely moments.

I do not stand to see the stars these days, there is too
much silence there, and you know what happens
when silence meets other silence. And they are many, I am
one. Cowardice. Or just an inability to turn a bright face on
days that start with cartons of curdled milk and the smell
of stale cigarettes. Seven chores and twenty nine items
on the bucket list. None are getting done, none are
moving on. Alas, there is too much time,
and we age slowly, so we may regret more.