Work is a bum's way
and not the bum as in that
Poor hapless soul on the corner
Begging and crying after her
poor lost love
love lost to the Fed
Tidying up the street
no, man, bum as in bummer
as in waste of life, a waste of time
so short, time
not much, and yet never enough for the work, i tire, and i digress
i return
i work to make money, that will
just be taken, in its part, to feed the machine
and fill the ever shrinking bowl of social security
and give money to support efforts to arrest the
innocent
once guilty, now innocent reborn, so
that he can be torn from his life connection, now crying to herself, comforting, trying to
rocking, holding, seeing through bleary teary boohoo eyes
of the utmost truth and seeing the dishonesty in the truth as held by the god
of the land
SO...work, truly is the bums way, the ones on the corner ever sicker
i, and you, indirectly, am showing them the way out, and
only by the rudest necessary means
indirectly
always the problem
indirectly.