No. I didn't pick out the wretchedly small calendar
that dispenses to me these meager limits
of such severe calculations:
They gave me the size of the eyes
and I received the hands
I hold out like wings wherever
although we learn the wrong kind of flight.
I know hardly anything pertaining to a sad calendar.
But I do know very well that today's Saturday:
My entire life is only for me,
and no one, although they might try, will avoid it:
The universe is briefly mine
and I'm going to start it up all over again.