Here in the lovely shade of lateral blinds pulled taut
I sit long enough like this
Taking in the shapes within the round, beige dome
This womb I might as well call home
Where days are punctuated by the whir of necessary machinations
Sit long enough like this through eight-hour shifts, by design
The rewards, the promises of good speculation and chrystal orbs
The ones that soften your crash from the rattle and rush of working years
Sit long enough like this, but not so still
Crunch of numbers, quick, calculate the good years of service
How many more hours until the golden hour.
I like your work. thanks for the link.
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