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.