On Work

I work too much, I think. My nine-to-five
Seems sometimes like nine-to-infinity,
And time off-clock is eat-some-sleep-some-drive,
Then walk-in, clock-in, productivity.

I even dream of being on the job:
An endless stream of “hey do that, do this,”
Subconscious tasks impossible to solve,
Self-employment impossible to quit.

But sometimes friends invite me Friday nights
To live a bit, sit barstool for a few,
And I just might, though always to my right
I hear “what’s up”–“not much”–repeat ’til two.

Dull? Sure, but I’ve had dreams of work before
While unemployed, and woke to wish for more.

~Michael Danger Caskey

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She Could Peel an Apple–In One Long, Curly Strip

Forever is always a moment away,
As if ‘twixt the tick and the tock of the clock,
There’s a moment it skips, that you miss as it stops,
And she was between that, but she never stays.

Forever is only a hair-breadth ahead
On the edge of the world–horizon met plains–
And one step from “never was heard from again,”
But beckoning me to her nowhere-shaped bed.

Listen! She’s muttering something obscene,
Between the swift censor of celibate time,
Its second-hand breaking her promising lines,
As if warning me what infinity means.

But she is infinitely calling me near,
And constantly tempting me walk towards the ledge
To hang on the side along Damocles’ edge;
Forever’s no friend, but she’s calling me dear.

She’s promised that she will be kind through the years,
She’s promising me of a love with no end,
She’ll promise no price on affairs we’ll begin;
She feels I’m her lover, so why feel I fear?

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on September 25, 2012 at 11:34 pm  Leave a Comment  
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