my boredom is orchestrated by untailored conversations about subjects i rapidly lose interest in and the irascible in me that scatters everything into extended righteous tantrums. the summer here sits, rises and blows through my boredom splashing my face now and then with swift bits of excitement and things-to-do that almost don't last long enough. and boredom clings to that snappish tether that barely is, especially when it comes to people and sights of the daily variety. i am pregnant with waiting to go home, everything is a stretch, every gesture is vacantly stagnant and the moment seems farther pushed, the closer it appears miraged.

so my boredom publishes itself, always uncontrollably in every contuor of this ambience that could never attain the other.