Sudoku and reheated dinners—
all these bizarre contortions
known as daily dances
that amount to nothing
more than endurance training
for the obviated Olympics,
where yesterday’s blood and sweat
become tomorrow’s Nativity play.
But if life only happens
on stage, on a silver screen,
in the thicket of typeset pages,
I will gladly remain
a pilcrow.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
In a closed game I mostly play myself,
navigating through days with hoary household appliances—
which permits only nontactical positional manoeuvring—
just to keep up with a simple chore list.
And then comes the pressure of Zeitnot,
which makes mistakes more likely,
but in the end, does it really matter whether you win or lose?
After all, the dead are impervious to either fame or shame.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 