No work, no where to go, nothing to do

all very tiring, wearing out my soul,

Listen to the silence of many books read

Some entertaining, some right over my head.

Space is suddenly everywhere, yet no room

for me and my fading patience staring

bullishly at the blank wall of my existence.

Looking back, even that is fading to limitless grey,

nearly as far as the horizon of my emptiness

Looking forward to nothing, how comfortable

will that be, if I switch off, and choose to

ruffle the sofa, the snoring grunting breath

Of time passing, and eating me and you

 in its hungry vacuity with no horizon.