Monday, December 19, 2011

It's A Living

It’s A Living
Allen Masterson

Absorbed into the machinations of a
Honeycomb personality disorder,
Synchronized button pushing manifests
A mirrored figurative effect as I
Gnash my teeth and stomp my feet
At the crimes of routine.

Radio frequencies deconstruct molecules
To bond together pieces of a temporary shelter,
Which protects vulnerable creatures from the harsh reality
of their environment; for a fee, of course.

Cold hard cash is the coefficient I concern myself with
in the formula of a punched clock purgatory.
But harpies flutter about, pecking at my psyche
While picking my pocket with a quicksand hand

But there is respite down the corridor of time
Where behind unlocked doors whisper Saturn and Sun
The promises of security from society
And rumors.... of The Great 401.

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