A gravely desultory day unfolds with painful slowness, sloth ascending
Unnamed tree. The sun's not out. The air is neither cold nor warm.
It's windless, cool, and I regard the scene outside, unsettled in a soiled
Chair, without enthusiasm. I might just as well be gazing at the confines
Of a box. I'll rise in time to go to eat, though I'm not feeling very hungry.
Eating's just a thing to do on this, a desultory day, which threatens not
To end.