When I go to work,

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I ache to draw, play music, or write

but there is no place in the work world


away from the desk jobs to do these things.


I comfort myself by writing aphorisms on painted posts

by my work area,

or making little drawings.


I write odd warning signs and tape them to the furnace

room refrigerator.


and I hear music in my head while my ears are plugged,

and the factory is filled with industrial noise.


but none of the music I hear is my own.


and I'm growing deaf.














































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A6293298

Infinite Improbability Drive

Infinite Improbability Drive

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