Sunday, March 22, 2015


It's the Sundays that mark the week 
all else seems like work and the things that rule you
On this day you feel free
but with a sense of apprehension 
A cautious liberation

Our bonded willingness to shelve it all for love
or money
is the defining feature of our race
Never mind opposing thumbs
or a penchant for shiftlessness 
Eating and sleeping is king

Sundays have a sense of abandon 
when you say fuck it and turn on the TV
and smother everything in gravy
Maybe reflection of your existence 
in this instant is the thing
That thing
that everybody is talking about

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