Sunday, boring Sunday

nailed to my chair
like a hand in a glove
with the world at my feet

I have nowhere to go
no friends to meet
I sit in retreat

a hollow space
an empty face
out of time
out of place

a boring Sunday
is al I have
nailed to a chair
birds in the trees

too far away
sky showing some fatigue
no one near enough to please
a longing is there

it says what you need
is some distracting sleep
to leave a boring Sunday
a withered leaf

(c) JR. eightees