I'd woken up early, and I took a long time getting ready to exist. I paced from one side of the room to the other, dreaming out loud incoherent and impossible things—deeds I'd forgotten to do, hopeless ambitions haphazardly realized, fluid and lively conversations which, were they to be, would already have been. And in this reverie without grandeur or calm, in this hopeless and endless dallying, I paced away my free morning, and my words—said out loud in a low voice—multiplied in the echoing cloister of my inglorious isolation.
visual poetic prompt
'Montage of Ecclesiastical Figures Posed in Political Satire' courtesy of The Horace W. Goldsmith Foundation Fund, through Joyce and Robert Menschel, 2012 via The Met