a radio voice clicks on
on a rainy morning's sunrise
barely visible through the coffee sipping grog
awakening adrenaline in the pinstriped prizoner
of return calls and business lunches,
over-worked and under-played,
as he exercises frustration
and flirts with ideas like
"there must be something more"
than the chit chat of knit wits
in the claustrophobic confines of elevators
"there must be something more"
than strolling back to the cage by two
when today's files (which haven't been filed)
are the day of reckoning you knew
would be coming to haunt, to chide,
to fumble with the toys about you,
stalling, stagnating, while the click clock tick tocks
deadlines, dead lines, lines for the dead,
in heat like southern Texas
precious presure swelling
until the prisoner like popcorn pops and drops
and is served a a small rectangular box
for acquaintences to poke and peep
and remind themselves of the quaintences
of days that have passed both sun and snow
"there must be more"
then penetrating deep into Mother Earth
on a day like today
hoping that some seed, some morsel,
has not yet been tainted
"there must be more"
than starting again
the tense struggle, to grasp, to breathe,
to find a niche and inhabit it,
hibernating, hoarding life's pleasures
there must be a way"
to jump start the creature within the creature
that urgently needs to be needed
or invent a new distraction that helps you forget,
no matter how well you build you tenements,
your roof will eventually leak
even in your harbor,
in the safe haven of your home,
great dangers mustbe faced,
right here, right now
"there must e a way"
to taste the madness that drives creation,
to allocate some wretched scrap of security,
and yet survive
the daily dulldrum death that waits,
lurking just outside your office window.

a radio voice clicks on
on a rainy morning's sunrise
barely visible through the coffee sipping grog
awakening adrenaline in the pinstriped prizoner
of return calls and business lunches,
over-worked and under-played,
as he exercises frustration
and flirts with ideas like
"there must be something more"
than the chit chat of knit wits
in the claustrophobic confines of elevators
"there must be something more"
than strolling back to the cage by two
when today's files (which haven't been filed)
are the day of reckoning you knew
would be coming to haunt, to chide,
to fumble with the toys about you,
stalling, stagnating, while the click clock tick tocks
deadlines, dead lines, lines for the dead,
in heat like southern Texas
precious presure swelling
until the prisoner like popcorn pops and drops
and is served a a small rectangular box
for acquaintences to poke and peep
and remind themselves of the quaintences
of days that have passed both sun and snow
"there must be more"
then penetrating deep into Mother Earth
on a day like today
hoping that some seed, some morsel,
has not yet been tainted
"there must be more"
than starting again
the tense struggle, to grasp, to breathe,
to find a niche and inhabit it,
hibernating, hoarding life's pleasures
there must be a way"
to jump start the creature within the creature
that urgently needs to be needed
or invent a new distraction that helps you forget,
no matter how well you build you tenements,
your roof will eventually leak
even in your harbor,
in the safe haven of your home,
great dangers mustbe faced,
right here, right now
"there must e a way"
to taste the madness that drives creation,
to allocate some wretched scrap of security,
and yet survive
the daily dulldrum death that waits,
lurking just outside your office window.