“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label working. Show all posts
Showing posts with label working. Show all posts
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Financials
After receiving the report
twenty-five years after writ-
there is quite a bit to process.
I guess it is accurate. It says
sixteen years ago, in two-thousand
we will live up to eighty
making more than seven hundred-
thousand hours to work
Total
Amounting to
forty hours in five days
some spend one hundred
and fifty thousand of these pleasing others-
rather-even-just-seventy five thousand hours
making money, a must
making
Nothing but Money
-for else-making
temporality more tolerable,
comfortable in
Cash
Not all agree on the bottom line,
which is what you take home
necessitating a (safety) net worth
under your trap-ease
to catch you when the bottom
drops.
From the way I read
this P and L, I can tell
accrued assets don't carry over
as easy as debts-
By the numbers I'd bet
(all) on yourself,
working on
building value,
oddly that is how interest accrues
even broke(n).
Image By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons, "Brains and how to get them," 1913.
Monday, November 2, 2015
10 Things I Never Do (Today)
The 10 things I NEVER do (today) include:
Clock-in-OR
Clock-out-is that two?
Wear nylons-
Paint my lips-
Say 'Yessir' or commute, anywhere, ever
around about noon
halfway through I stop listening, change the channel,
fine tune the static ring
in the melody of midday melancholy
nothing important is this bright
no reason to wait until its safe
to come out, face it, say it, bleed out-Out with it!
Sleep tight,
at midnight
as the schedule shows
I sleep lucidly dreaming.
I dream the life of a poet.
I live in the lucid poets dream.
Clock-in-OR
Clock-out-is that two?
Wear nylons-
Paint my lips-
Say 'Yessir' or commute, anywhere, ever
around about noon
halfway through I stop listening, change the channel,
fine tune the static ring
in the melody of midday melancholy
nothing important is this bright
no reason to wait until its safe
to come out, face it, say it, bleed out-Out with it!
Sleep tight,
at midnight
as the schedule shows
I sleep lucidly dreaming.
I dream the life of a poet.
I live in the lucid poets dream.
*This poem was composed as a response to the poem by Ted Berrigan, 10 Things I Do Every Day.
Composed 11/12/15.
Image by William-Adolphe Bouguereau, The Earrings, 1891. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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