A New Absurdist

I looked out the window
Unto all the silly things:
The busy people,

Each with their own
tangled, growing mass
Of knots on lengthening
And fraying little strings.

Then I stopped, thoughtfully,
Because I knew that I,
Inside, staring, and noting,
Was exactly like them.

‘To each their own’ is a
Nasty universal. Sad, then,
That it is so damn true.