Data stored.
Error!
Memory corrupted,
Erased, or misplaced:
New details added, old
Turned around,
Into confusions, fears, frustrations
And tears.
Corrupted
Willing Prisoners
An invisible tractor beam holds them in thrall,
Caged in place by color and sound.
The key to their freedom lies close at hand,
Yet nobody moves at all.
A Labor Day Toast
To those who push papers,
And those who click mice.
To those who swing hammers
And those who roll dice.
To thinkers, to doers –
To teachers and crooners.
To cashiers, to stockers –
To clerks and dog-walkers:
From the lowest to highest
From the many to few,
Whatever your job,
A toast to you!
All you do, all you say,
All you write, plan, or make –
You deserve a day off!
Have a nice, happy break!
I Would Count the Hours
I would count the hours,
The minutes,
Until that blessed day,
But I have not
The slightest clue,
When this cold will go away.
A Seat at the Bar
A moment of peace,
Sweetened by cold drinks
And decadent dishes –
A solitary bubble
In the bustling chaos
And excited crowds –
A gilded throne,
Metaphorically speaking:
The royal treatment
Without the toll.
twytte 