Monday, April 20, 2009

Work... a poem... maybe

Working for what I'm paid...
The Minimum.
Forcasting rain leads to indoor tears frustration from the ceiling
a call sent forth to the ones over us all
responses only to sease the lights as something sparks within us
a cou
a desire to walk out for self redemption from the hell we are paid to live within.
I am.
Minimally working.
Happy so.
Hoping someday to be saved away.
Without knowing what to do on the other side.

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