Eliot and Hamlet

I found this in a notebook, like a lot of poems recently. I have no idea if I meant to title the poem "Eliot and Hamlet," or if it was the title of the lecture I should have listened to, the page is pretty much blank aside from that. Still, I'm not too sure what I meant by this at the time, but I can see where I took some elements for later poems.

Silly self-consciousness,

too much time for everything

set before us,

and more.

This is not an age

of too little time,

of options counted

on one manicured hand;

the road doesn’t fork,

no trivial choice to

make – an asphalt lot,

spreading out,

hot and sticky,

spreading as far

as my feet can see,

leading to strip

malls, plush couches

large sodas,

a dozen redundant

specialist boutiques.

I can wander eastwards

dally there a few weeks

before strolling back

to the warm west,

making my home

wherever I choose,

always sitting

and never at rest.