oct 92 is the source of today's poem, which somehow i think was either posted once, or is in a manuscript or something. anyway, it seems terribly familiar, not that it really matters.
off to the taxman later today - getting another of my very patriotic duties taken care of.
other than that - life is pretty ho hum around here lately - outside the paper world, which remains on the auction block and rumors again are flying of potential buyers and all the doom and gloom that can accompany these sort of things. we shall see. this week we have our quarterly state of the mill address, which may or may not express movement on that issue.
I TELLS YOU, MAN
i tells you, man, life is a bitch. we with no spoons,
our dirty fingers in the soup. alchemists
we sadly aint, snorting the vapors
of the industrial revolution. not exactly the elixirs
of inspiration. ha! i tells you, does the best that can be done
within circumstances.
upon the golden road, no sign-posts signal our arrival -
but weez here, undoubtedly, singing the songs
we finds a necessity. sour voiced, as always, my loves
gone awry.
the poetry and rambling thoughts of a working class poet
