11.07.2006

everybody, everywhere

everybody hates their job
(no. dammit!
his or her!
there is no
singular their!)
or so i'm told, but i don't know,

poetry is everywhere i look:
regular three forty-one
plus three fifty-three
premium three sixty-three.

the plickity-plack of typing drones
,softly incessant,
falls like bitter rain on numbed, nubered ears.
what better way to pass the days, the years?

Labels:

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home