I’m getting angst
from my lack of angst.
Is it wrong to only
be giving thanks?
I try to worry,
but just draw blanks.
Is my thinking wrong?
Am I a crank?
Does my angst about angst,
mean I now have angst?
Is this just circular logic,
from front to flank?
When you read this poem,
will you think it stank?
Has my writing now
gone into the tank?
Can I handle the truth
if it’s told to me frank?
I guess I do have angst
brought on by no angst.
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