I've been sick for a week, and haven't felt much like posting. I'm better (?) now. A new poem:
In the Business District
Suits are walking down the street, wearing their people.
Gray suits with their matching men, shoes with tassles
for men who think their job is nothing but hassles,
a black suit and tie for a man whose image is evil.
The men in suits don't look right or left.
They are as blinkered as carriage horses,
as shuttered as one bereft,
as trapped as the stars in their courses.
I don't want to be owned by my work,
my days spent bent over a desk like a jerk.
I feel a chill in the air, and it's hard to say
whether it's weather, or a sense of dismay.
Or just the daily trauma of doing the unappealing,
with a bottle at home to drink myself into feeling.
4:14:32 PM 
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