Siesta
The tiredness of the armchair,
the aches of the catatonic lamp,
the dominion of the window,
defamiliarising the sky,
the magazines and papers,
weeks old, unread, spread,
in a faint, onto the table.
Flowers with crooked elbows,
too bored to even die.
The discreet agony of sunny afternoons,
when sleep is the opiate,
and you drink and drink.
Encyclopaedia Vanitatum 