Wednesday, December 12, 2007

workaholic hostage

for Amber
(aren't we all in hostage situations?)

i print off letters-
switching names and numbers,
saying all the same things.

in my stomach there's a flutter;
could it be? i start to stutter (talking to a client)
distracted by the sound of my own voice

i don't want to wrap myself
in blankets of words
a shield from all

the harsh reality that is
the emotional weather at hand
"the forecast for today"-

slightly neurotic, 85% chance of road rage,
10% chance of tears, with scattered laughter..

I'll think i need a cigarette at some point (need is so weird).
no one knows.. the weatherman never does

i must get out of this building
look for myself


while i'm at it,

i'll look for my SELF

...i must be around here somewhere ...

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