I’m feeling much more than restless tonight,thinking perhaps I should just get tight…I might say it’s ennui I’m feeling, onlythat seems too French, pretentious, phony,so let’s just say I’ve got the blues,a slough as familiar as ‘nothing to lose’.Like John Berryman, I’m ‘heavy bored’,all ‘inner resources’ peeled & cored.I glance at the books upon my shelves,their supercilious, self-satisfied selves,their polished prose, apt turns of phrase,their striking thoughts & knowing gaze:I don’t care for any of them right now,learned or streetwise or middlebrow,& certainly not these light classics by Sartre,That petit philosophe with a talent for art.Oh, I understand what Jean-Paul meantabout being ‘abandonné dans le présent’,though I’d sooner say ‘forsaken by the past’where everything that is, resides at last.So, like Roquentin, I’ll worry mislaidmemories – forlorn, derelict & frayedbookmark souvenirs,…