made it through another day, still have a job. made it to the weekend, i just might get some sleep. made it to another pay check without going bankrupt first. made it through my thirties without losing my mind. made it out the suburbs, so where the hell do i go from there?
One boy's protest against the almighty binary digit via poetry and typewriters.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Labor Day Blues
The wallet is empty.
It rains, it shines, it rains again.
Where do all these used cell phones go.
Hunk of silicon and transisters in my pocket which I don't even need.
My great-grandfather had a model T but never learned how to drive it.
My grandmother didn't believe men went to the moon.
She kept onions and potatoes in the barn and milked the cow everyday.
They had a party line until the late 1970's.
I used to talk to everybody down the dirt road.
It's that crazy-kid again listening.
The one with the typewriter.
It rains, it shines, it rains again.
Where do all these used cell phones go.
Hunk of silicon and transisters in my pocket which I don't even need.
My great-grandfather had a model T but never learned how to drive it.
My grandmother didn't believe men went to the moon.
She kept onions and potatoes in the barn and milked the cow everyday.
They had a party line until the late 1970's.
I used to talk to everybody down the dirt road.
It's that crazy-kid again listening.
The one with the typewriter.
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