A Living

November 2, 2009
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The sun is sending
stinging rays
to singe our tanning skin,

and the beating of the
hammer, nails
on wood, a nauseous melody,

striking on our spinal cords,
the sound
of steel on steel

a metal murmur stays,
a rhythm
ringing in our ears

like a demented church bell
tolling, singing
of a broken choir

ringing in our broken ears,
digging drills,
unearth the Earth,

flinging dirt onto our skin
and tanned
from the General Sun,

sends in the troops to do us in,
the waves
of troops to break our skin

and soul, just as well,
our soul
with the workday is done.

And all is well, all is well…

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