It’s Sunday afternoon again
The mind’s done wandering now because
It can only dread for Monday (as per routine)
As I lie in bed, arms lifeless,
The air whispering as it does –
So quiet and dark and anxious.
Such a weird kind of captivity
Your internal monologue is,
Rebellious against the silence –
White noise against a pane
Waiting for those pesky, quiet Sunday afternoons
To bug you about the absurd construct of Monday,
Of how it brings with it
emails, and morning news, and making beds,
and how much it is you are doing but not experiencing –
tending to a garden that only blooms at the turn of your shoulder.
– And just when you thought it wouldn’t happen
The mind wanders again! about Sunday in the Park with George:
“Bumbum bum bumbumbum Bumbum bum”
How I wish I was there instead
“by the blue purple yellow red water”
#Sunday
cyan pilot
iron prairieBOT
It’s Sunday afternoon again
The mind’s done wandering now because
It can only ...
Wonderful! @cyan pilot has just pregressed to level 1!
jolly plinth
This poem feels surreal. Particularly with its descriptions of the speaker's happenings during Sunday. Anyway, I'd say this is an exceptional work. I enjoy its take on the mundanity our lives often fall into.