From ‘Entries of the Cell’, by Franz Wright

“…All will be
forgotten, everything you perceived, thought,
dreamed, hoped, remembered . . . all the past
all the crawling fucking coughing chestpounding
nose-picking and deathward attempts
to make real some desperate desire, like
standing upright for a minute in the sun. The
sun that will die.

[…]

Let’s say that five a.m. arrives and finds you fully dressed in
yesterday’s clothes,

the clock set for six.

It’s bad, no question about it, and yet.”