cold grey sunday

wake, light from window grey and dull. Sounds of sleep, of clocks, Wheeze and ear whistle, chest pains, immobilise, make lazy.
later, eight, iterate.

son up, joue avec l'ordinateur
minecraft.
ugh who would understand?
in his sleeping clothes, amid his schoolbooks
fantasising in a world of blocks,
"grau ist alle theorie,
und grün des lebens goldener Baum"
so much for the memorising of things read
scratch the head and go back to
bed.
Dead tired.
No sense in forcing form upon a shapeless day