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Working Man

Not as if it’s real work either,
hunched over a keyboard
Trying not to drift
To another website found forgotten

What I wouldn’t give for the ache of an honest day
Shovelling shit into a ditch or aiming some loud machine
But that would last five minutes, and then
Back to the comfort of a complaining chair, lazy air

Motivate, move, plan, consume
Breaking the invisible arc of the sun into boxes of minutes
Meetings to mark out the boundaries and dry the heart
To shrivel and encase the reasons to start

And the body goes up and down
Interest rising and waning
Till the ticking massages and numbs
Counting down or up, sideways across around

Always for the evening
A richer hope of meaning
Distracted tired and reaching
From silly floor to ceiling

A rhythym in a void
casting tendrils from the edge
catching sight of flicking light
bobbing out of view

Crap, useless, late, and whatever
No truth here, taken together
Loss and meaning, life and grieving
Under the glow of factory weather

All there are are moments
taken together, life still in motion
each instant a seperate reality
ever new and odd

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