Air Waves
My grey eyes reflect a grey desert
void of life, inspiration, form, hope, etc…
(my desk)
I hold on to the memories of sobriety
ideals
and skinned elbows.
A human interest story on the radio
made me cry this morning
(Alzheimer’s and shrapnel wounds)
it’s casual Friday, in a casual world
Doug is cackling wildly again
(the laugh of sinister satisfaction)
at something marginally clever
he graced the department with
(orgasm withdrawal symptoms)
or consider crash dieting
fidelity, and Medicare plans
I want to ask them
under a microscope of honesty
and free of baggage
(charades):
how cruel will life become?
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