Monday, November 2, 1998

Melancholy Contemplation #80.746

I hear
cobwebbed stereo
panned
word samples
in each ear,
they say
(in a 50’s East Coast accent)
“welcome to the real world, kid”
home from work,
I feel as if my slow boring work-week
has whirled my brain;
all those plump office muffins
with their powdery litter-box minds
and dainty spinningwheel
conversations
as interesting to me
as whitebread on whitebread
on whitebread.

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